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THINGS THAT 
DURE 



. R.MILLER 



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Cfjmgs tfjat Cnbure 



DR. J. R. MILLER'S BOOKS 


A Heart Garden 


Joy of Service 


Beauty of Every Day 


Lesson of Love 


Beauty of Self-Control 


Making the Most of 


Bethlehem to Olivet 


Life 


Book of Comfort 


Ministry of Comfort 


Building of Character 


Morning Thoughts 


Come ye Apart 


Personal Friendships of 


Dr. Miller's Year Book 


Jesus 


Evening Thoughts 


Silent Times 


Every Day of Life 


Story of a Busy Life 


Finding the Way 


Strength and Beauty 


For the Best Things 


Things that Endure 


Gate Beautiful 


Things to Live For 


Glimpses through Life's 


Upper Currents 


Windows 


When the Song Begins 


Glory of the Common- 


Wider Life 


place 


Young People's Prob- 


Golden Gate of Prayer 


lems 


Hidden Life 




BOOKLETS 


Beauty of Kindness 


Learning to Love 


Blessing of Cheerful- 


Loving my Neighbor 


ness 


Marriage Altar 


By the Still Waters 


Mary of Bethany 


Christmas Making 


Master's Friendships 


Cure for Care 


Secret of Gladness 


Face of the Master 


Secret of Love 


Gentle Heart 


Secrets of Happy Home 


Girls : Faults and Ideals 


Life 


Glimpses of the Heav- 


Summer Gathering 


enly Life 


To-day and To-morrow 


Go Forward 


Turning Northward 


How? When? Where? 


Unto the Hills 


In Perfect Peace 


Young Men: Faults and 


Inner Life 


Ideals 


Joy of the Lord 





Cfjtngg tfjat <£nbure 



BY 

J. R. MILLER 

1 1 

AUTHOR OF 

'SILENT TIMES," "for THE BEST THINGS," "the BOOK 

OF COMFORT," ETC. 



EDITED BY 

JOHN T. FARIS 



NEW YORK 
THOMAS Y. CROWELL COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 






Copyright, 1918, by Thomas F. Crowsll Company. 



Published September, 1913. 



©CI.A351559 



FOREWORD 



W HEN the death of J. R. Miller was an- 
nounced, many of the tens of thousands who 
every year looked forward to the appearance 
of new volumes from his pen feared that 
there would be no more of his helpful books. 
But a pleasant surprise awaits his world- 
wide audience. While fulfilling a promise to 
him to complete for publication two volumes 
on which he was at work until the pen 
dropped from his weakening hand, I discov- 
ered among his manuscripts rich material 
which has never been published in book form. 
So it is possible this year to offer another 
volume in the series of books of which already 
more than two million copies have been 
sold. The chapters of "Things That En- 
[v] 



iforetoorb 



dure" are here presented just as they came 
from the heart and brain of him who found 
his greatest joy in helping others. 

John T. Faris. 
Philadelphia, U.8.A* 



[vi] 



CONTENTS 



I. Things that Endure Page 1 

II. The Cost of Reaching the Best 9 

III. When Kindness is Unkind 17 

IV. The Interweaving of the Days 27 
V. Doing and Not Doubting 37 

VI. No True Work Is Vain 43 

VII. Be Thou a Blessing 51 

VIII. Making a Living and Making a Life 59 

IX. Our Lives Words of God 67 

X. Two Ways 77 

XL The Duty of Being Always Strong 85 

XII. Strength for a New Year 93 

XIII. More than Meat , 105 

XIV. The Sin of Drifting 113 

XV. The Value and Responsibility of One 

Life 121 

XVI. The Folly of Drifting into Marriage 129 

XVII. How Not to Show Sympathy 137 

[ vii ] 



Content* 



XVIII. Choosing Our Friends Page 145 

XIX. The Entanglements of Love 157 

XX. Learning the Lessons of Love at 

Home 165 

XXI. Learning the Lessons of Patriot- 
ism 173 

XXII. Is Worrying a Christian Duty? 181 

XXIII. Making or Marring Beauty 189 

XXIV. On the Footpath to Success 197 
XXV. Causes of Failure 205 

XXVI. Sticking to One's Calling 215 

XXVII. The Misuse of the Gift of Speech 223 

XXVIII. The Danger of Talking too Much 231 

XXIX. Books Worth While 239 

XXX. A Talk about Tempee 247 

XXXI. The Advantage of Keeping One's 

Temper 257 

XXXII. The Grace of Being Obliging 265 

XXXIII. What to Do with Our Money 273 

XXXIV. What to Do with Our Hands 283 
XXXV. Some Indirect Ways of Lying 291 

XXXVI. Putting away Childish Things 299 

XXXVII. Remember the Way 307 



[ viii ] 



<3P[Hngg tfrat Cttimte 



CHAPTER I 

^fjtngg tfrat ofrrtmre 




T was one of the conceits of an- 
cient poetry that the oarsman, 
Charon, was permitted on one 
occasion to visit this earth. From 
a lofty mountain top, he looked down upon 
the cities, palaces, and works of men. As he 
went away, he said, "All these people are 
spending their time in building just birds' 
nests. No wonder they fail and are ashamed." 
Building birds' nests to be swept away in the 
floods, when they might be erecting palaces 
of immortal beauty, to dwell in forever — thus, 
indeed, must much of our life and work ap- 
pear to the angels who look down upon us 
from heaven and see things as they are. 
Many things that men do leave no permanent 
results, nothing to show a little while after- 
ward that they have been wrought. 

No doubt, there are things evanescent in 
themselves, which yet leave an enduring im- 
[3] 



Cfnttga tfmt <#nbure 



pression. A rose has but a brief existence, 
and yet it may leave a touch of beauty on the 
hearts of those who behold it. Charles Kings- 
ley advises, "Never lose an opportunity of 
seeing anything beautiful. Welcome beauty 
in every fair face, every fair sky, every fair 
flower, and thank Him for it who is the foun- 
tain of all loveliness, and drink it in simply 
and earnestly with all your eyes ; it is a charm- 
ing draught, a cup of blessing." 

There may be good, therefore, in even the 
most transient things we do. They may leave 
touches of beauty on the lives of others, or 
may put inspiration toward sweeter and better 
living into other hearts. But there is a large 
class of things that people do which neither 
do good to others nor store away any treasure 
for those who do them. It is possible to live, 
however, so that everything we do shall last. 
In all our busy life, we may be laying gold, 
silver, precious stones, on the walls of life's 
temple, materials which will not be consumed 
nor tarnished in the fire that shall try men's 
work. In the sphere of unseen things, results 
[4] 



Clunga tfjat Cttimre 



are rated, not by dollars, but by moral values. 
Here a cup of cold water given to a thirsty 
one in the name of Christ will count for more 
than the piling up of a fortune for one's self. 
In this sphere, also, the man whose hands 
appear empty at the end of his life may be 
rich, leaving to the world an enduring inheri- 
tance of good. Writes Kingsley again : 

There is no failure for the good and wise. 
What though thy seed should fall by the wayside 

And the birds snatch it, yet the birds are fed; 
Or they may bear it far across the tide 

To give rich harvests after thou art dead. 

Our work will last only when it is inspired 
by love and is wrought in the name of Christ. 
Nothing that we do for ourselves will endure. 
There is no immortality for vanity and self- 
seeking. The glory of self-conceit is only a 
bubble that bursts and leaves but a wrack of 
froth behind. But what we do in love for 
Christ and our fellow-men will live. One made 
a costly piece of embroidery, weaving into it 
many silver and gold threads. The work was 
then laid away for a time, and when it was 



4E$fttg* tfjat Ofrttmre 



looked at again the whole delicate and beauti- 
ful fabric had decayed — nothing was left save 
the gold and silver threads. These were 
bright as ever in imperishable beauty. The 
only threads in the web of a life which will 
endure are the gold and silver threads which 
love for Christ and love for men put in. 

We do not begin to realize what power even 
the smallest things, if love be in them, have to 
put brightness and a blessing into dreary or 
empty lives. The memory of a kindly word 
stays ofttimes for years in a heart to which it 
brought cheer and uplifting. A flower sent 
to a darkened room in some time of sickness 
or sorrow leaves fragrance which abides ever 
afterward. A note of sympathy, with its 
word of cheer and love, is cherished as dearer 
than gold or gems, and its message is never 
forgotten. The greatest deeds without love 
make no enduring record, but when love in- 
spires them the smallest ministries of kindness 
leave imperishable memories in the lives which 
they help and bless. 

It ought to be one of the deepest longings 
[6] 



Cfjingsf tfjat Ofrtimre 



of every true heart to leave in this world 
something which will last, which will live in 
blessing and good. 

"Is the world better or worse where I tread? 
What have I done in the years that are dead? 
What have I left in the way as I passed— 
Foibles to perish, or blessings to last?" 

It is pitiful to spend one's years in doing 
things that are not worth while, things that 
will perish and leave no record of good in 
any life. We should not be content to let a 
single day pass in which we do not speak some 
gracious word or do a kindness that will add 
to the happiness, the hope, or the courage and 
strength, of another life. We should seek 
ever by ministries of love to redeem our days 
of toil from dreariness, emptiness, and earth- 
liness, and make them radiant in Gcd's eye 
and in the story they write for eternity. 

"For me — to have made one soul 
The better for my birth; 
To have added but one flower 
To the garden of the earth; 

[7] 



Cftingg tfjat Cnfcmre 



"To have struck one blow for truth 

In the daily fight with lies; 
To have done one deed of right 
In the face of calumnies; 

"To have sown in the souls of men 
One thought that will not die — 
To have been a link in the chain of life. 
Shall be immortality." 



t»t 



Cfre Coat of Uteatfjing tfie 2fre*t 




CHAPTER II 

Cfje Cost of Cteaclnnp; tfje 2foat 

OME one has been making a little 
calculation which is interesting. 
A bar of iron of a certain size, in 
its rough state, is worth five dol- 
lars. If it be made into horseshoes, it is worth 
twelve dollars. When it has been put through 
certain processes and then made into needles, 
instead of horseshoes, its value is increased to 
three hundred and fifty dollars. The same 
piece of iron, however, made into knife blades, 
becomes worth three thousand dollars, and 
made into balance springs for watches, is in- 
creased in value to the enormous sum of two 
hundred and fifty thousand dollars. These 
figures are not vouched for, but it is no doubt 
true that a bar of iron is capable of becoming 
worth a great deal more than in its rough 
state it would bring in the market. 

The iron reaches its higher values through 
certain processes. It has to be put into the 



Cf)mg$ tfjat Ofrttmre 



fire, and has to be hammered, rolled, pressed, 
cut, and polished. The more it is worth in 
the end, the longer and severer processes must 
it pass through in preparation. It requires 
more heating and pounding to make it into 
watch-springs than into horseshoes or knife 
blades. 

There is an illustration here of the way in 
which the best that is in human lives can be 
brought out. It can be done only by the pro- 
cesses of education and self-discipline, and 
these processes are not easy. The boy who 
would live up to the best that is in him can- 
not spend the greater part of his time on 
the playground, nor can he slip along through 
school and college with keys and translations. 
He must dig out his lesson with sweat and toil. 
The girl who would live up to the best that 
is in her must deny herself many tempting 
and attractive diversions and good times, and 
must devote herself sedulously to study, read- 
ing, work. We are disposed to sympathize 
with and pity young people who are called to 
endure hardship, self-denial, pinching econ- 
[12] 



Cfje Coat of fteacfnng tfje 2fost 

omy, disappointment, defeat, and trial. But 
we should rather commiserate those who have 
no hardness, no self-denial, no necessity for 
economy, no struggles. These are apt to re- 
main all their lives only like the bar of com- 
mon iron, while those who must endure the 
severe discipline are the only ones whose lives 
grow into nobleness strength, usefulness, and 
Christlikeness. 

Even of Jesus it is said that he "was made 
perfect through suffering." We can save our 
life only by losing it. We can bring out the 
better nature only by the crucifying of the 
worst. We can develop our character, our 
true life, only by the denying of ourselves in 
those things that belong to the lower phases 
of life. We must keep our body under, if we 
would attain the best possibilities of our 
higher nature. Many people dread the hin- 
drances and obstacles which lie in their way, 
but, rightly seen, these are opportunities for 
making something of our life. 

The law of sacrifice lies at the heart of all 
beautiful living. Everywhere we find illus- 
[13] 



Cfnng* tijat Cttimre 



trations of this. A great oak stands in the 
forest. It is beautiful in its majesty. It is 
ornamental. It casts a pleasant shade. Be- 
neath its branches the children play. Among 
its boughs the squirrels frolic and the birds 
sing. The woodsman comes one day with his 
axe, and the tree quivers in all its branches 
under his sturdy blows. "I am being de- 
stroyed!" cries the oak. So it seems, as the 
great tree crashes down to the ground. The 
children are sad because they can play no 
more under the broad branches. The birds 
grieve because they can no more nest amid the 
summer foliage. But let us follow the tree's 
history„ It is cut into boards and beams, and 
built into a beautiful cottage, and now human 
hearts have their home and nest there. Or it 
is used in some sacred temple where God is 
worshipped. Or it goes into the sides of a 
great ship which speeds over the seas. The 
losing of its life was the saving of it. It died 
that it might become deeply and truly use- 
ful. 

The plates, cups, and vases we use in our 
[14] 



Cije Cost of Cteatfnng tfje 2fa*t 

homes lay once as clay in the earth, quiet and 
restful. Then came men with picks, and the 
clay was rudely torn out and thrown into a 
mortar and beaten and ground in the mill, 
and pressed under weights, then shaped by 
the potter's hand, then put into the furnace 
and burned, at last coming forth in beauty to 
begin a history of usefulness. If the clay 
could speak, it might cry out, but the end 
proves that what seemed destruction was its 
making into beauty and value. 

These are simple illustrations of the law 
which applies also in human life. We must 
die to be a blessing. People said Harriet 
Newell's life was wasted when she gave it to 
missions and then died and was buried with 
her babe, far from home and friends, — bride, 
missionary, mother, martyr, and saint, all in 
one short year, — without having told one hea- 
then of the Saviour. But was that beautiful, 
gentle life really wasted? No; for a hundred 
years her name has been a mighty inspiration 
to missionary work, and her influence has 
brooded everywhere, touching thousands of 
[15] 



Climsst tfmt Ofrrtiure 



hearts of gentle women and strong men, as 
her story has been told. Had Harriet Newell 
lived a thousand years of quiet, sweet life in 
her own home, she could not have done the 
work that she did by giving her young life 
in what seemed unavailing sacrifice. She lost 
her life that she might save it. She died that 
she might live. She offered herself a sacrifice 
that she might become useful. We can reach 
our best only through pain and cost. 



[16] 



Wfyn fctntoiefitf fe Enfemfc 




CHAPTER III 

Wbtn fctttimeg* fe Uttfemb 

HE demand to-day is that all 
things shall be made easy. It is 
so in homes. Nothing must be 
hard for children. They must be 
tenderly nurtured. Their burdens must not 
be made too heavy. Their tasks must not be 
made too exacting. Their wishes must never 
be refused. Even their whims must be grati- 
fied. A writer gives an example of the way 
this method of training is carried out. "0 
George," spoke a young mother in a tone of 
rebuke to her husband, who had been reprov- 
ing the little daughter of the household, "you 
said, 'Don't,' just now to Dorothy. How 
could you ? Just think what you have done ! 
You have interfered with her individuality." 
It may not always be with the same delib- 
erate thought that mothers never deny a child 
anything. Not always is the motive to pre- 
serve the child's individuality from repression. 
[19] 



Cfnnga tfjat Ofrtimre 



Still there is in homes a great deal of this 
spirit of indulgence which moves along the 
line of least resistance in home government. 

The same is true also in many schools. 
Everything must be made pleasant. The 
teacher must always make the lessons so in- 
teresting that it will not tax the pupils to 
listen to them and so simple that it will not 
require any effort to understand them. It is 
thought to be unreasonable to expect pupils 
to do any hard thinking for themselves. A 
distinguished teacher says that pupils of this 
dainty kind would like to lie in bed and have 
their studies sent up to them. 

It may seem very pleasant for young people 
to have their work made so easy. But that is 
not the way for them to make the most of their 
lives. To evade effort is to fail of achieve- 
ment. For the student to have the hard work 
done for him is to rob him of the results of 
faithful study. There are some things we 
can get done for us, but nobody can achieve 
our education for us. If we insist on never 
doing the things that are unpleasant we can- 
[20] 



Wfyn fcinimed* ts; WLnkixib 

not expect to receive the benefits and the 
rewards. 

This does not mean that the hard work of 
the student is not pleasant — it may be pleas- 
ant, yet not easy. The harder he works, the 
more pleasure does he find in his studies. The 
student who is diligent grows enthusiastic. 
He "burns the midnight oil" in pursuit of 
knowledge. He becomes eager in his research. 
He finds joy in his work. On the other hand, 
when the pupil has no interest in his studies 
he makes no progress in them, gets nothing 
from them. He probably blames it on the 
teacher, saying that he does not make the 
lessons interesting. He does not make things 
so simple, so easy, that no thinking is neces- 
sary, no knitting of brows, no hard study. 
He is quite ready to teach, but the best 
teacher is not the one who leaves nothing for 
his pupil to do. Good teaching tells the least 
it can — it makes the pupil do the work. 

The demand of many pupils is that the 
teacher shall always be interesting. He shall 
tell everything about the lesson in such a 
[21] 



Cfuttgg tfjat Cnbure 



bright, charming way that the pupils shall be 
made happy. There is the same demand in 
other lines where one man is set to guide 
others. The people in the pews demand that 
the preacher shall interest them. They do not 
want hard thinkings — they go to church to be 
entertained and if they are not entertained the 
fault is with the sermon. If they grow sleepy 
they say the preacher is heavy and does not 
know how to make his sermons impressive. 
Books must be made interesting or people will 
not read them. They pronounce them dull if 
they do not sparkle in every sentence. 

This demand to be entertained is of the 
spirit of indolence. Every one who insists that 
he must not be required to work hard in his 
search for knowledge will miss the attainments 
which will be won only through patient toil. 
Parents want to be kind to their children and 
sometimes they overdo their kindness by in- 
dulging their dislike of hard duty, their dis- 
taste for self-denials. "To spare our chil- 
dren," says one, "only to make it more certain 
that we shall have failed to harden them for 
[22] 



Wf)tn kittimtsto fe Mnfemfc 

the battles of life; to make it more probable 
that they will go down in the struggle ; to send 
them out only to suffer and bend and break 
under the ruthless pressure of the modern 
world — that is perhaps the worst crime that 
can be committed against the future of the 
race and the happiness of humanity." Life 
is full of tragedies coming from such kindness. 
The loving-kindness of God is the most per- 
fect illustration of love. God is never unkind 
— he cannot be unkind. Yet he never in- 
dulges his children, giving them their own 
way when their own way is not good. He does 
not answer their cries to be freed from pain 
when pain is the best thing for them. He in- 
sists on obedience, however hard it may be, be- 
cause no other way can bring blessing and 
good. God's severity with his children is the 
greatest kindness. This ought to be the model 
for parents in dealing with their children. 
Anything else leads to the spoiling of life, the 
marring of character. Perhaps no other fail- 
ure in parental training in these days is so 
great or so ruinous as that which is produced 
[23] 



Cfnng* tfjat ofrtimre 



by overkindness, or what is thought to be 
kindness. All who are teachers of the young 
are in danger of erring in the same way. The 
popular sentiment to-day is that we should 
never cause any one pain. But it is not thus 
that the divine teaching runs. "Through 
many tribulations we must enter into the king- 
dom of God." Pain is the way to the highest, 
truest life. God gives joy, the most perfect 
joy, but we reach it through suffering. We 
must love our children so well that we can let 
them meet and endure pain in order that the 
beauty of soul in them shall be perfected. 

Then for ourselves, if we would reach the 
highest, we must be willing to suffer, to pay 
any price of self-denial or restraint that the 
image of Christ in us be not marred. We 
praise peace, but peace if anything less than 
the holiest and highest is not the peace we 
want to rest in. A prayer by F. W. H. 
Meyer runs, "From the torpor of a foul tran- 
quillity may our souls be delivered into war." 
There is a story of a sculptor who worked for 
years in poverty and obscurity to reach his 
[24] 



Wf)tn fcutime** te Mnfeinfo 

ideal. At last the work was finished in clay. 
But sudden cold came upon the city that night 
and the old man knew that his model would 
freeze and be destroyed. He had no fire in 
his poor attic, which served both as studio and 
sleeping-room. In the morning they found 
the statue wrapped with the clothes from his 
bed, warm and unharmed. But the sculptor 
they found dead. He had given his life to 
save his masterpiece. We should be ready to 
suffer even unto death that our ideal may be 
kept unmarred. Nothing of cost or sacrifice 
should be spared that our lives may reach the 
best. 



[25] 



Qfyt Slntertoeatring of tfie J^apa 




CHAPTER IV 

Cfje 3lntertoeabmg of tfje J&ap& 

T is a good thing to learn to live 
by the day. We should devote all 
our strength to the doing well of 
each day's tasks, and then should 
disengage ourselves altogether from its en- 
tanglements. Emerson puts it well : "Finish 
every day and be done with it. You have done 
what you could. Some blunders and absurdi- 
ties no doubt crept in; forget them as soon 
as you can. To-morrow is a new day ; begin 
it well and serenely ; and with too high a spirit 
to be cumbered with your old nonsense. This 
day is all that is good and fair. It is too dear, 
with its, hopes and invitations, to waste a mo- 
ment on the yesterdays." 

Yet important as is the duty of fencing off 
the days and keeping them separate, there is 
a sense in which no day stands alone. The 
days are links in an endless chain. Each day 
receives an inheritance from yesterday, and at 
[29] 



'Cfjingfli tfjat <$ntatre 



its close passes it down to the day which comes 
after. We start every new day with the mem- 
ories of all our days trailing after us. We 
have all the knowledge gathered during the 
years that are gone. We have also the expe- 
rience of the past by which our lives have been 
enriched, or possibly hurt. We are bound up, 
too, in the associations and friendships which 
have been formed. In countless ways, yester- 
day's life and to-day's are intertangled. Each 
day is but a little section of a great web, 
containing one figure of the pattern, the warp 
running through all the days and years. A 
life is a serial story, opening with infancy, 
closing with death, and each day is one little 
chapter in the story. 

We best prepare for to-morrow when we 
make to-day beautiful with truth and faith- 
fulness. To-day is the blossom, to-morrow is 
the fruit. To-day is the sowing, to-morrow 
is the harvest. Far more than we realize does 
to-morrow depend upon to-day. The Bible 
has its promises of divine care and provision ; 
yet all such promises imply our faithfulness in 
[30] 



Cfie 3ntertoeatring of tfje J^aptf 

duty as the condition of their fulfilment. A 
link dropped in the chain of obedience and 
fidelity will mean a break in the continuity of 
the blessing. Every minute is a key which, 
when touched, strikes a note somewhere in the 
future. If the touch be a true one, it will 
help to make music of love and joy. If it be 
a wrong touch, it will make a discord in the 
melody of life. 

"Every moment of each hour 

Has its power to raise and lift, 

Or its little hindering power. 

Nothing idly passes by; 
Naught too small to give its gift: 

Bind their wings, then, as they fly — 

Till they bless you, hold them tight." 

If those who are preparing for their life- 
work had any true conception of the relation 
of early studies and discipline to future power 
and success, they would think no work too 
hard, no study too exhausting, in order to 
make ready for their chosen calling. It is 
said that one of Turner's great sea-pictures 
has been sold recently for nearly twenty thou- 
[31] 



Cfjtngs! tfjat «£nbure 



sand pounds. It is well known that Turner 
gave the closest attention to details. It is 
said, for instance, that he once spent a whole 
day on the shore of a quiet lake, tossing peb- 
bles into the water, to study the effect of the 
sunlight on the ripples as they were started 
by the stone and spread over the lake's sur- 
face. His companions twitted him on having 
wasted his day, as he had nothing to carry 
back to show for his visit to the lake. "But 
I have learned how the ripples look," he re- 
plied. "I think I shall be able to get some- 
thing out of the day after all." 

Turner's day was not wasted. It is to 
such patient attention to minute details in 
preparation that his great pictures owe their 
wonderful perfection and beauty. Behind all 
worthy success lies ever a preparation almost 
infinitely painstaking. Those who despise 
routine, technique, drill, discipline, in the 
days of training, never can win honors for 
fine attainment and achievement in after years. 
Self-indulgence to-day means mediocrity — or 
less — to-morrow. 

[32] 



Cfje Slntertoeabmg of tfce Pap* 

One tells of seeing a builder idly picking 
up a piece of wood as he stood talking to a 
friend. He turned it over in his hands and 
said : "See what a beautiful piece of oak this 
is. Notice the fineness of its grain. This 
wood will take a higher polish than a piece of 
ordinary oak. Can you guess why this is?" 
he asked. His companion could not answer, 
"Well, it is because the tree from which it 
came had to endure a great deal of buffeting. 
It did not grow in a forest, sheltered by other 
trees. It stood apart in some field alone, and 
this wood gets its delicate grain from the bat- 
tle with the elements which it had to wage 
through all its history as a tree. It was 
beaten on every side, and it was this expe- 
rience of hardness which has given to this 
piece of wood such an exquisite quality of 
fibre." 

What is true of trees is true also of men — 
they grow best, into the finest character, into 
manliest strength, the noblest influence, in a 
life of struggle, toil, self-denial. The easy 
life may seem more pleasant to-day, but it 
[33] 



string* tfjat <#n&ure 



does not fit us for masterful and victorious 
life to-morrow. 

The same law applies in spiritual life. 
Our to-morrow depends upon our to-day. It 
is possible in a Christian home to put into 
the hearts and minds of children such qualities 
and principles that they shall be able to mas- 
ter the world's evil when they go out to face 
it. When men build a great ship to go out 
upon the sea they store away in its keel 
enormous reserves of strength — stanch ribs 
of iron, immense beams and stays, massive 
plates of steel. If the vessel were being built 
to sail only on some peaceful river or even 
to go upon the ocean in quiet days, it would 
be a wasteful expenditure at such large cost 
to put such enormous strength in her frame. 
But the builders are wisely equipping the ship 
for the most terrific storms she may ever have 
to encounter. 

"Common chances common men can bear, 
And when the sea is calm, all boats alike 

Show mastership in floating; 
But in the gale of life, 
[34] 



Cfce Sntertoeatring of tfje I^ap* 

And when the adverse winds 

Are wildly raging, 
Then the stanch ship only- 
Answers nobly to her helm, and can 
Defy the fury of the tempest's wrath." 

If we live well the days of youth and op- 
portunity we shall not fail in the days of 
stress and need. God is in all our life, and 
if we are only faithful each day as it comes, 
nothing but good shall fall to our lot. Very 
beautifully is the truth set forth in these lines : 

"He holds the key of all unknown, 
And I am glad; 
If other hands should hold the key, 
Or, if he trusted it to me, 
I might be sad. 

"What if to-morrow's cares were here 
Without its rest? 
I'd rather he unlocked the day, 
And as its hours swung open say, 
'My will is best.' 

"I cannot read his future plans, 
But this I know: 
I have the smiling of his face 
And all the refuge of his grace 
While here below. 
[35] 



<3Efjmg£ tfjat O&tirare 



"Enough, this covers all my needs, 

And so I rest. 
For what I cannot, he can see, 
And in his love I still shall be 
Forever blest." 



T36] 



&oing anb &ot doubting 




CHAPTER V 

J^omg anb Mot J^oubtmg 

OME good people talk altogether 
l\ too much in a doleful strain. In- 
deed any doleful talk in a Chris- 
tian is too much. We have no 
right to go about airing our fears and doubts. 
In the first place, we need not have fears and 
doubts, if we have truly committed our life to 
Christ. Surely we are safe in his hands. But 
if, in spite of our secure trust and our divine 
keeping, we still have gloomy feelings on cer- 
tain days, we ought not to speak them out to 
others. It is not good witnessing to our Mas- 
ter, for one thing. Besides, it makes life 
harder for others. We have no right ever to 
be a discourager. Usually it is not possible 
for us to lift away people's burdens. Indeed 
it would not be well that we should do this 
if we could. These burdens are God's gifts 
to his children ; it is his will that they should 
carry them for a time, and if we lifted them 
[39] 



Cfringg timt o&itmre 



off we might be interfering with the discipline 
of divine love and doing harm, not good. But 
we surely sin against our brother when by 
giving him our own doubts and fears we make 
him less brave and strong for his hard duty or 
his sore struggle. Rather, it is the duty of 
love always to try to make him stronger by 
words of cheer and hope. 

There is still another reason why we should 
not let our doubts and fears have wing. 
While we keep them in our own breast, unex- 
pressed, we can the more easily get the mas- 
tery over them. Talking gloomily makes our 
own heart less brave. When we have said a 
discouraged word we have given way in some 
measure to the disheartenment which is trying 
to get possession of us. And every time we 
yield to this temptation, we are allowing the 
enemy to add another strand to the cable 
which, by and by, will bind us in the habit of 
life that will make us slaves of depression. 

When Dr. Charles S. Robinson was pastor 
of a church in New York, he repeated in the 
course of a sermon this stanza: 
[40] 



"Oh, how many a glorious record 

Had the angels of me kept, 
Had I done instead of doubted, 
Had I warred instead of wept." 

He asked the congregation to repeat it 
after him, and then added, "You may forget 
the sermon, but do not forget the verse." 

Years after this a prominent lawyer, in a 
private letter, recalled the incident, and spoke 
of the help which he and others had received. 
Dr. Robinson replied: "I remember the ser- 
mon and my little verse. It gives me more 
joy than I can describe to know that I 
help anybody. Sometimes I think the highest 
reward I shall ever get in heaven will be the 
words, not exactly, 'Well done,' but 'Well 
tried.' Now and then, however, some thought- 
ful, generous person like you comes along and 
says, 'Well, when you tried that time you 
did.' So I try again." 

The lesson of this stanza is one we all may 
profitably let into our life — not to doubt, but 
to do; not to weep, but to war. Doubt par- 
alyzes energy; doing brings the strength of 
[ 41 ] 



Cfnttgg tfjat o&rtrore 



God into hand and heart. The moment we 
begin to try to obey, God begins to impart 
grace to help us to obey. Brave struggle 
leads to victory; weeping causes weakness 
which ends in pitiable defeat. 

Dr. Robinson's thought of a reward for 
trying well is good. God will not forget our 
efforts, even if we fail of the result we hoped 
from them. It was said to David, "Whereas 
it was in thine heart to build an house for my 
name, thou didst well that it was in thine 
heart." We shall have reward, at last, for the 
good things we sincerely try to do. This 
should encourage us when we have wrought 
faithfully, but do not see fruit from our labor. 



[42] 



$0 <arrue Wovk 3$t Wain 




CHAPTER VI 

Mo Crue Woxk 3fe Wain 

JO true work for God ever fails. 
Was there ever in this world 
such other apparent failure as 
there was in the life of Jesus 
at the close of the day he died? Nothing 
seemed to be left. The Cross had buried in 
black floods of shame all that was beautiful 
and worth while in that blessed life. Even 
the little handful of followers he had gathered 
about him during his troubled years had lost 
all confidence in him as the Messiah. Yet we 
know that what seemed failure was most glo- 
rious success. The history of Christianity 
these nineteen centuries is the story of the 
influence of Jesus. 

When you have done your duty aily day, 
when you have been true to God in your work, 
in your witnessing, it is impossible that you 
have failed. Sometime — it may be years 
hence — but sometime the good will be appar- 
[45] 



Cfjingg tijat O&tiiure 



ent and the blessing from your faithfulness 
will be wrought out before the eyes of the 
world. It is not the noise we make that pro- 
duces impressions. Nor are the visible re- 
sults the truest and deepest. Teachers some- 
times feel that their work with their pupils 
has failed because they do not see the tearful 
eye after the tender lesson and the instant 
change in the life after the earnest appeal. 
The preacher thinks his work has failed be* 
cause his sermons do not draw crowds and do 
not leave startling results. The best work is 
wrought in the silence. Said Frederick W. 
Robertson : "For teachers — What is success ? 
Not in the flushing of a pupil's cheek or the 
glistening of an attentive eye ; not in the shin- 
ing results of an examination, does your real 
success lie. It lies in that invisible influence 
on character which He alone can read who 
counted the seven thousand nameless ones in 
Israel. For ministers — what is ministerial 
success? Crowded churches, full aisles, at- 
tentive congregations, the approval of the 
world, much impression produced? Elijah 
[46] 



thought so, and when he discovered his mis- 
take and found out that the Carmel applause 
subsided into hideous silence, his heart well 
nigh broke with disappointment. Ministerial 
success lies in altered lives and obedient, hum- 
ble hearts." 

We should set it down as a principle, that 
only as God works in us will our work have 
power, and that ordinarily God works silently. 
Elijah waited, and a terrible storm swept 
among the mountain crags ; but the Lord was 
not in the storm. Next there was an earth- 
quake and the mountain was shaken to its 
base ; but the Lord was not in the earthquake. 
Then came fire — the lightning leaped from 
cliff to cliff and the deep gorges blazed ; but 
the Lord was not in the fire. When these 
startling manifestations of energy were gone 
by, then God came. There was "a still small 
voice" — "a sound of gentle stillness" — and 
that was God. 

How silently the sunbeams pour down all 
day long ! No one hears their falling. Yet 
what mighty energy there is in them ! What 
[47] 



Cfringg tfmt <£nbure 



wonderful results they produce ! How silently 
the dew comes down in the darkness ; yet in 
the summer morning all the leaves and flowers 
and grasses are gemmed as with diamonds, 
and there is new life everywhere in field and 
garden and forest. So it is in all life. It is 
not noise nor sensation that produces true 
spiritual results; it is God in us, the Spirit 
working through us, the love of God breath- 
ing in our words, in our acts, in our life. We 
know how silently Christ wrought. His voice 
was not heard in the streets. The Spirit of 
God moves upon men's hearts and changes 
them, but no one hears the Spirit's move- 
ments. 

But if we work thus, hiding ourselves away 
and letting God use us, and if we are true and 
faithful to our duty, our work shall never 
fail. Sometime, somewhere, there will be 
blessing from it. We may not see results at 
once. Our pupils may go away from our most 
earnest teaching apparently unimpressed. 
Sorrowing ones may appear to receive no com- 
fort from our sympathy or from the divine 
[48] 



$0 Crue Wovk 31$ Wain 

words of consolation we speak to them. Con- 
gregations may scatter away after the 
preacher's most solemn appeals, appearing to 
carry with them no deep and lasting influence 
from his words. But if God is truly in our 
work, blessing and good will sometime surely 
follow. Years hence, it may be, the strong 
man will bend over the humble teacher's grave 
and drop a tear as he says, "It was her sweet 
patience, her loving, beautiful life, her earn- 
est words, her faithful holding up of Christ 
before my eyes, that led me to my Saviour." 

The dewdrop sinks away into the heart of 
the rose and is lost, forgotten. But all day 
in the hot sunshine the rose is more lovely 
and pours out a sweeter fragrance. Your 
words of comfort spoken to a sad one sank 
down like the dew into the depths of the sor- 
rowing heart and seemed to be altogether 
lost. But the life grew stronger as the blessed 
sympathy of your spirit touched it and as the 
truth you spoke entered into it, and soon was 
restored to peace and joy. 

The preacher goes home discouraged and 
[49] 



Cfjmgsi tfrat O^nbure 



hides himself away from sight, feeling that 
no good has been done by his sermon, because 
no one spoke of any help or benefit received 
from it. But in one life and another and an- 
other, among those who heard him, there is 
new hope, new courage, new resolve, new in- 
spiration. One goes home and seeks his 
neglected altar and prays, the first time in 
months. One is encouraged to try again to 
overcome his besetting sin. One goes out to 
find some needy one to whom he can minister 
in Christ's name. One is stronger all the 
week amid the toils and tasks of a busy life 
and lives more sweetly, more earnestly, more 
lovingly. 

Thus the sermon that in secret the minister 
wept over, after preaching it, thinking it 
had done no good, really blessed many lives, 
inspiring, quickening, cheering, arousing, re- 
buking sin, comforting sorrow, kindling hope. 
If only God be in us in our work, we need not 
be anxious about results. Our noise may 
make no impression, but God's silence works 
omnipotently. 

[50] 



"Wt Cfjou a blessing" 



CHAPTER VII 




|0D gives us nothing to keep al- 
together as our very own. What 
he gives us is still his, and we 
have only the use of it. It is lent 
to us. This means that it is to be returned 
again to God when we have ended our use of 
it. It is not to be returned, however, just as 
it came to us, the bare gift and nothing more ; 
it is to be multiplied with use and then re- 
turned with proper accruements. 

There is another phase of this use of God's 
gifts which we should not overlook. While 
they are in our hands they are to be employed 
not for ourselves alone, or at all, primarily, 
but to give help, comfort, joy, light, and 
cheer, to others. When the Lord called 
Abraham to leave his country, his home, his 
friends, and go out as a homeless stranger, 
whithersoever he might be led, he gave Abra- 
ham a promise of great blessing. Then came 
[ 53 ] 



Cfjingg tfjat Q&tfcmre 



the command, "and be thou a blessing." He 
was to receive from God, and he must also 
give. 

This is the law of the heavenly kingdom. 
Nothing whatever is given to us to be kept 
for ourselves alone. Everything that is ours 
is ours to use and then pass to others. God 
gives us his love, the most wonderful gift that 
even he has to bestow, but we are not to keep 
it. We are to love others as he loves us. If 
we do not love others, that is proof that we 
have not really taken the gift of God's love 
into our own heart. God gives us his mercy — 
he forgives us. We are to pass his forgiveness 
to others. The only real indubitable proof 
that we have received the divine forgiveness 
is that we are extending it to those who have 
wronged or injured us. "Forgive us as we 
forgive," we are to pray. 

So it is of everything we get from God, the 
largest and the smallest blessings, — we are to 
pass them on. Blessed of God in such a won- 
derful way, "be thou a blessing." If we but 
carried out his teaching and fulfilled this law 
[54] 



"2fc Cfjou a 2Mea*fafl" 

of Christ's kingdom in every particular, it 
would make this earth a heaven. Yet that is 
just what we should aim to do. 

"Be thou a blessing." Make it personal. 
Look back and think of the persons with whom 
you have come into contact to-day — to how 
many of these have you been a blessing? 
There are few of these who did not need some- 
thing you could have given. Everybody is 
carrying a burden. Many have sorrows of 
which the world knows nothing, for not all 
the world's grief hangs crape on the door- 
knob. 

What are you really doing for people? 
What are you giving to them? There are 
some persons who make the load of others 
heavier instead of lighter. They are dis- 
couragers rather than encouragers. One of 
the ways of being a blessing is never to make 
life harder for another, never to be a hin- 
drance, never to go to others with doubts and 
fears. This alone is a good thing — never be 
a discourager. 

But that is only a negative way of being 
[55] 



Cf)mgg tfjat <£ntatre 



a blessing — blessing others by not harming 
or injuring them. It is better than being 
a plague to others, doing them injury. But 
it is not the kind of help God wants us to give. 
The divine command is, "Be thou a blessing." 
This calls for an active helping. Blessing is 
a noble word. It is a great thing to be a 
blessing to any one. It is to bring him some- 
thing from God, to do him good in some way 
that will make him better, stronger, and hap- 
pier. We have had our cup filled with the 
love of God ; now we are to share our blessing 
with others. 

"If thou art blest, 
Then let the sunshine of thy gladness rest 
On the dark edges of each cloud that lies 
Black in thy brother's skies. 
If thou art sad, 
Still be thou in thy brother's gladness glad." 

It is not easy to live a life of perpetual 
blessing to people. Jesus did it, but it was 
very expensive living for him. 

"Virtue went out of him," to heal and help. 
He gave out something of himself to every 
one he touched. We cannot do people much 
[56] 



"2fre Cfjou a blessing" 

good, we cannot help them in deep and true 
ways, without cost to ourselves. What costs 
us nothing is not worth giving. An old prov- 
erb says, "One cannot have omelet without 
breaking eggs." We cannot do anything 
worth while for others without cost. If you 
begin to love another, you do not know what 
your loving will demand of you before you 
have finished its task. Love gives and serves 
and sacrifices unto the uttermost. 

We need never fear the cost, however, when 
there comes to us an opportunity of being a 
blessing to another. Blessing for ourselves 
depends upon our being faithful to every duty 
of love, regardless of the cost. If we shrink 
from the service because it is too much for us 
to do, we miss the gift of God for ourselves, 
which is offered to us in the opportunity. The 
true and the beautiful life is the one that seeks 
to be a blessing to every other life it touches. 

"Do any hearts beat faster, 
Do any faces brighten 
To hear your footsteps on the stair, 
To meet you, greet you, anywhere? 

[«7] 



Clung* tfmt Cntmre 



Are you so like your Master 

Dark shadows to enlighten? 

Are any happier to-day 

Through words that they have heard you say? 

Life were not worth the living 

If no one were the better 

For having met you on the way, 

And know the sunshine of your stay." 



[58] 



|®afemg a Htbmg anb leaking 
a Hife 




CHAPTER VIII 

leaking a Utirittg anb faking 
a TLiit 

OVERNOR RUSSELL, of Massa- 
chusetts, in addressing a graduat- 
ing class, said, "There is one 
thing in this world better than 
making a living, and that is making a life." 
The words are worthy of most careful ponder- 
ing. It is the duty of every one to make a 
living. "Six days shalt thou labor," runs the 
old commandment. "If any will not work, 
neither let him eat," was Paul's frank counsel 
regarding idlers. We are taught in the 
Lord's Prayer to look to God for what we 
need for the sustenance of our bodies, but it 
is "our daily bread" that we are authorized 
to ask for, and it is not ours until we have 
earned it. Excepting those who are too 
young, those who by the infirmities of age are 
incapacitated for labor, and the sick, the obli- 
gation to make a living rests upon all. 
[61] 



Cfnngtf t&at OSntiure 



Yet making a living is not the first thing in 
life. The first thing is to make a life, to build 
a character, to grow into a worthy manhood. 
Our Lord showed us the true relations of a liv- 
ing and a life when he said, "Seek ye first the 
kingdom of God, and his righteousness ; and 
all these things shall be added unto you." 
The "all these things" to which he referred 
are things we need for our bodies — what we 
shall eat, what we shall drink, and wherewithal 
we shall be clothed. Jesus does not say these 
things are unimportant — it is necessary that 
we have daily bread as long as we stay on the 
earth. But his teaching is that we are not to 
put first in our thought, our desire, our re- 
quest, the supply of our physical wants. In- 
deed this is not to be the real aim of our liv- 
ing at all. We are to make central in all 
our life the righteousness and the kingdom 
of God. That is, we are to live to do God's 
will, to be what he made us to be, to do what 
he wants us to do, to attain the divine beauty. 
The supplying of the needs of our body is 
really not our matter at all, but God's. If 
[62] 



M Utoing attir a Htfe 

we live truly, he will look after our living. 
"These things shall be added." 

It is the duty, therefore, of each one, to 
make a life. That is what we are here for. 
This means that we shall develop to the full- 
est possibilities the capacities which have been 
intrusted to us, making the very most of our 
life. It means that we shall seek in all our 
experiences to grow toward perfection. We 
are always at school. Our great Teacher is 
ever setting new lessons for us. In all our 
common and uncommon duties and experiences 
there is something back of the mere act re- 
quired. To do the simplest task negligently, 
slurring or skimping our work, hurts our life 
and character. While we are serving men, we 
are also and primarily serving Christ. Our 
work may not be congenial, and in our distaste 
for it we may do it negligently, but if we do 
we shall fail to please Christ and to seek him 
aright. We may be under a master who is 
unworthy, who treats us unjustly, and we 
may be tempted to think that we are not re- 
quired to do our best for him. But there is 
[63] 



Cfnitg* tfjat ofrtfcmre 



Another who is our real Master, and it is for 
him that we must work. 

In all our efforts to make a living, whatever 
the pressure of need may be, we should never 
cease to seek God's righteousness. That is, 
we should never, in order to get our daily 
bread, do anything that is not right. Some- 
times people say as an excuse for doing some- 
thing dishonest or dishonorable, "I must live." 
That is not true. The essential thing is not 
that we shall live, but that we shall do the 
will of God. We would better die of hunger 
than do wrong to get bread. It is said that 
God feeds the sparrows, and yet these birds, 
we are told, are most careful in gathering 
food from the ground to keep their wings 
clean and unsoiled. 

"I watched the sparrows flitting here and there, 
In quest of food about the miry street; 
Such nameless fare as seems to sparrows sweet 
They sought with greedy clamor everywhere. 

"Yet 'mid their strife I noted with what care 

They held upraised their fluttering pinions fleet. 
They trod the mire with soiled and grimy feet, 
But kept their wings unsullied in the air. 
[64] 



B Hftring anb a Htfe 

"I, too, like thee, O sparrow, toil to gain 

My scanty portion from life's sordid ways. 
Like thee, too, often hungry, I am fain 
To strive with greed and envy all my days. 
Would that I, too, might learn the grace 
To keep my soul's uplifted wings from stain!" 

It is not enough to get on in life — we must 
get on in a way that will please God, in a 
righteous way. When we see a man rising 
to prominence, growing rich, achieving power 
and fame, before we can commend him as 
worthily successful we must know by what 
steps he has climbed to his high eminence. 
Where are those who in making a living, or 
in winning worldly success, wreck and lose 
their life? 

Our first aim should ever be to build a life 
that will appear spotless and beautiful be- 
fore God. No other success is worth achiev- 
ing. A man may make a splendid living, 
robing himself in purple and fine linen, and 
faring sumptuously every day, but if mean- 
while he is not making within himself a noble 
and Christlike manhood, he is losing all that 
is worth while. 

[65] 



Our Utoea Woxte of <$ob 




CHAPTER IX 

<®uv TLibut Wovte of <$ob 

RIENTALS say that each man 
and woman has a message, and 
that only those who utter their 
message are true men or women. 
It is interesting to think of ourselves in this 
way, as sent into the world with something 
to give out or manifest. Lowell tells us that 

Life is a sheet of paper white 

"Whereon each one of us may write 

His word or two, — and then comes night. 

Every life is meant to be a word of God. 
Christ was the Word. He came to manifest 
in his incarnation the whole of God's being. 
Men looked into his face, and saw the ef- 
fulgence of the Father's glory and the very 
image of his substance. He was in the fullest 
sense the Word. But every human life, even 
the least, if it fulfils the divine thought for 
it, is also a word of God, revealing something 
of God. 

[69] 



Clung* tfjat dtfcure 



It is easy to believe this of a few men, like 
Moses, David, Isaiah, John and Paul, through 
whom definite and distinct revelations have 
been given to the world. But there is no 
one to whom God does not give something to 
tell to men. It is not the same message for 
all, or for any two. To one it is a revealing 
of science ; to another, a poet's vision ; to an- 
other, fresh light from holy Scripture; to 
another, a new thought of duty; to another, 
a special ministry of love. 

Whatever our message may be, we dare not 
withhold it. Suppose that the beloved disciple, 
having leaned upon the breast of Jesus and 
learned the secret of his love, had gone back 
to his fishing after the ascension, failing to 
tell men what had been spoken to him, how 
he would have wronged the world! Any life 
that fails to hear its message and deliver it, 
wrongs those to whom it was commissioned 
to carry blessing. But every life, even the 
lowliest, which fulfils the divine thought for 
it, adds its little measure to the joy and treas- 
ure of other lives. 

[70] 



4£ur Hfoca Woxte of <$ob 

"There's never a rose in all the world 

But makes some green spray sweeter; 
There's never a wind in all the sky 

But makes some bird wing fleeter; 
There's never a star but brings to heaven 

Some silver radiance tender, 
And never a rosy cloud but helps 

To crown the sunset splendor; 
No robin but may thrill some heart, 

His dawn-light gladness voicing. 
God gives us all some small, sweet way 

To set the world rejoicing." 

The follower of Christ has a very definite 
message to deliver. St. Paul tells us that he 
is to manifest the life of Jesus in his mortal 
flesh. Many lives of Christ have been written, 
but in every Christian life there should be a 
new one published ; and it is these lives, writ- 
ten not in handsomely bound volumes, with 
fine paper and gilt edges, and with attractive 
illustrations, but in men's daily lives, that are 
needed to save the world. Says Whittier: 

The dear Lord's best interpreters 

Are humble human souls; 
The gospel of a life 

Is more than books or scrolls. 
[71] 



Cfnngg tfjat Ofrtirore 



It is important that we should understand 
how we are to manifest the life of Jesus in our 
own life. It is not enough to talk about him. 
There are those who with silver tongue can 
speak of Jesus eloquently and winsomely, of 
whom it cannot be said, even in widest charity, 
that his life is reincarnated in them. When 
the apostles were sent out, they were not to 
witness for Jesus in words, but were to be 
witnesses unto Jesus in character, in disposi- 
tion, in service. It is not more preaching that 
is needed to advance the kingdom of God 
among men ; it is more gospels in the lives of 
Christians. It is not what we tell people 
about Christ that makes his name glorious in 
their eyes, that makes them want to know him, 
that draws them to him with their sins, their 
needs, their sorrows, their failures : it is what 
they see of Christ in our own life. 

What was this life of Jesus that is to be 
repeated in every Christian life? Its great 
central figure was love — not what passes for 
love among men, but love full of compassion, 
love serving even to the lowliest degree and 
[72 J 



0ur Utoe* Work* of <$ob 

at greatest cost, love that was patient, for- 
giving, thoughtful, gentle, love unto the 
uttermost, which went to a cross to save the 
world. It was indeed a wonderful life. The 
half of its blessed meaning has not yet been 
discovered, even after nineteen centuries of 
scholarly study and research and of precious 
Christian experience. Every day reveals some 
new beauty in the character of Jesus and un- 
covers new depths in his love. 

When we think of being like Christ, we are 
apt to gather out a few gentle qualities and 
let these make up our conception of Christ- 
likeness. True, he was a kindly man, a pa- 
tient, quiet man; he was thoughtful, com- 
passionate, unselfish, loving. But we must 
not forget that the cross is the truest sym- 
bol of the life of Jesus. An artist was trying 
to improve on a dead mother's portrait. He 
wanted to take out the lines. But the woman's 
son said it would not be a true portrait of 
his mother if the lines were effaced. They 
told the story of love, serving, and sacrifice 
which made her what she was. The lines 
[73] 



Cinngg tfjat Cntmre 



were themselves the truest features in the 
whole portrait. 

No picture of Jesus is true which leaves out 
the marks of love's cost, the print of the nails, 
the memorials of his suffering. No mani- 
festing of Jesus is true which does not re- 
produce in spirit and act his devotion to the 
will of the Father and his love of men unto 
the uttermost. It is not enough that we point 
others to an historic cross standing on Cal- 
vary, far back in the centuries ; they must see 
the cross in our own life. When we speak to 
our neighbors of the pity of Jesus, his eager 
desire to save the lost, his giving of his life 
a ransom, they must see all this in us. This 
is the manifesting of Jesus for which we are 
sent into the world. 

Only when we do surrender our lives to 
Christ that he enters into us can we thus re- 
peat his life. There is a legend of the later 
days of Greece, which illustrates this. A prize 
was offered for the best statue of one of the 
deities. A country lad, who believed in this 
particular god with all his heart, had a pas- 
[74] 



<®ur Utoe* T©orbs of <$ofcr 

sionate desire to make the statue. He wrought 
manfully, but, lacking the artist's skill and 
experience, the figure he produced was want- 
ing in grace and beauty. Then the legend 
relates that this god, seeing the lad's loving 
endeavor worthily to manifest his character 
before the eyes of men, helped him. While 
the other competitors were laughing at the 
boy's crude work, the god himself entered 
into that pathetic marble failure, glorifying 
it with his own radiant beauty. 

This is only a heathen legend, but it illus- 
trates what Christ does for all who truly live 
for him, and with loyal heart and diligent 
hand seek indeed to show to the world his 
beauty. He enters their hearts, and lives 
out his own blessed life in them. Poor indeed 
may be our best striving, but Christ in us 
will glorify it. 



[75] 



Ctoo Way* 



CHAPTER X 

Ctoo Way* 




E ought not to live in the past. 
We ought to forget the things 
that are behind and reach for- 
3 ward to the things that are be- 
fore. "Forward and not back," is the motto 
of Christian hope. The best days are not 
any days we have lived already, but days 
that are yet to come. 

Yet some people live altogether in their 
past. They love to recite the deeds they have 
done in former years. They believe in their 
old ways and talk deprecatingly of the new 
ways, the innovations, the changes, of modern 
days. The past holds all their life's hopes 
and treasures. They sit uncomforted by their 
graves. They mourn over its vanished pleas- 
ures as if never more would a rose bloom or 
a violet pour its perfume on the air. They 
live as if the future had nothing for them — 
no joys, no hopes, nothing to be achieved, no 
[79] 



Cfjtngs; tfjat Cnbure 



love, no beauty. They seem like men who 
have been caught in a great sea of ice and 
frozen fast in it, so that they cannot extricate 
themselves from its grip. The past holds 
them in a captivity from whose meshes they 
cannot escape. 

This is not a good use of the past. How- 
ever happy we may have been in the days 
that are gone, that happiness will not satisfy 
our hearts in their present cravings. We 
cannot live to-day on yesterday's bread. Last 
winter's fires will not warm our house next 
winter. Last summer's sunshine will not woo 
out the foliage nor paint the flowers of this 
summer. The past, however rich it may have 
been in its blessings, cannot be a storehouse 
from which we can draw supplies for the needs 
of the passing days. We cannot live on 
memories. 

Yet there is a right use of the past. There 
are ways in which it may be made to yield 
blessing, help, and good, for us in the life of 
to-day. It should be to us a seed plot, in which 
grow beautiful things planted there in the life 
[80] 



<3Ttoo Waps 



of bygone days. Our to-day is always the 
harvest of all our yesterdays. The deeds we 
have done and the words we have spoken are 
not dropped, left behind, as things with which 
we shall never have anything more to do. 
They are part of ourselves, and we never can 
shake them off. 

We should carry forward the lessons and 
the gains of the past. We do not live well 
if we fail to learn many things as we pass 
through our years. We leave childhood behind 
us when we go forward to manhood, but all 
that is lovely and good in childhood, all its 
impressions and visions, we should keep in 
our mature years. Not to do so is to lose 
much that is richest and best in living. It 
is always sad if we fail to assimilate the re- 
sults of the experiences of the various stages 
of life through which we move. There is a 
true forgetting of things gone, which is not 
mere oblivion, but it is the incorporating of 
whatever is permanent in them with the new 
phases of life into which they lead. We put 
away childish things when we become men 
[81] 



string* tfjat Cnbure 



because we require them no longer. Starlight 
fades when morning comes, because in the new 
glory it is not needed. We leave school days 
behind when duty calls us afield, but we carry 
from our school days lessons by which to live 
more wisely in the midst of toil and struggle. 
All through our years we should reap the 
harvests of which we sowed the seeds in days 
that are behind. 

We never can get away from our past. We 
carry it all with us. We carry its memories. 
The children used to be told that the strange 
music they heard when they held a marine 
shell to their ears was the memory of the sea's 
moanings and surgings, treasured away in the 
recesses of the shell while it lay on the shore. 
It is only a fancy, but the fancy illustrates 
the way in which memory treasures up the 
records of the past to become the soul's music 
along the years. 

We talk much of living by the day. We 

say we should fence off the days, so that 

neither yesterday's shadows nor to-morrow's 

care may come into to-day's life. But there 

[82] 



Ctoo Wty* 



is a sense in which we cannot sever any day 
from time past or time to come. The days 
are all woven together as parts of one web, 
and we cannot tear them apart. The threads 
of yesterday run through to-day and then 
extend into to-morrow. One day's life alone, 
if that were all, would have no meaning for 
us; it would have neither memory nor hope 
in it. There could be no friendship, for 
friendship draws much of its sweetness out 
of the past, from memories of faithfulness, 
constancy, strength, and helpfulness, which 
give assurance of unfailingness in the stress 
of to-day. We need our past, for it is there 
the roots of our lives grow; we need the 
future, for we live for its hopes. In our 
darkest days we are comforted by the re- 
membrance of the stars that shone down upon 
us out of the bright skies of the past, and by 
the hope that the stars will again come out, 
that there are better days waiting for us on 
before. 



[83] 



Cfnttsa tfmt QSntrore 



"Were this our only day, 

Did not our yesterdays and to-morrows give 
To hope and memory their interplay, 
How should we bear to live? 



"But each day is a link 

Of days that pass and never pass away; 

For memory and hope — to live, to think — 
Each is our only day." 



[84 J 



C&e Ptttp of 2fremg Hltoas* 
Strong 




CHAPTER XI 

Cfje ^utp of 2fremg 3Utoa?a 
Strong 

T is always a duty to be strong. 
Weakness is never set down as a 
virtue. There is abundant proof 
of divine sympathy with weak- 
ness. God is the friend of the weak. Weak- 
ness draws his help in an especial degree. It 
is so in the realm of human affection. A child 
that is hurt or sick or blind is watched over 
far more carefully than the one that is strong 
and well, and draws to itself a larger measure 
of sympathy and help. The whole household 
contributes of its strength to make up for the 
weakness of the invalid. This is an illustra- 
tion of the way the love of God discriminates, 
giving help, not according to men's strength 
but according to their weakness. 

We may be sure, therefore, if we are weak, 
that we can get all the more of God's strength 
because of our lack of strength of our own. 
[87] 



Clung* tfmt <£nimre 



This is what St. Paul meant when he said, 
"When I am weak, then am I strong." In- 
deed, the consciousness of weakness is the 
secret of strength, for it opens the way for 
God to help. However a man may have failed 
in his efforts, when at last he learns his 
own hopelessness of the struggle in his own 
strength, he is ready for victory if only he 
turns to God. Self-confidence is weakness, 
because it asks no help from God. Self-dis- 
trust is strength when it casts itself upon the 
divine power. 

Thus weakness is redeemed from the despair 
into which it would sink if it had no resources 
beyond itself. It could then only be trampled 
down and crushed into the dust. It is one 
of the glories of the divine love that it reaches 
after human hopelessness, that it seeks to save 
the lost, that it brings its help to the broken 
and defeated rather than to the whole and 
the unconquered. 

This is a secret which all who are in the 
grip of temptation should hasten to learn. 
Mr. Drummond on one occasion was asked 
[88] 



2famg Bltoapa Strong 

to use his influence with a man who had be- 
come addicted to the use of strong drink. Mr. 
Drummond was riding with the man and 
asked him, "Suppose your horses ran away 
and you lost control of them and they turned 
a steep hill, what would you do?" The man 
replied that he could do nothing. "But sup- 
pose," added Mr. Drummond, "that some one 
sat by your side who was stronger than 
you?" The man said promptly, "I would 
give him the reins." 

Mr. Drummond pointed out to his friend 
the peril in which his life stood because appe- 
tite had gained the mastery. Then, reminding 
him of the nearness and helpfulness of Christ, 
he urged him to put the reins into his hands. 
Always the divine strength is ready to take 
hold of human weakness and change it into 
power. 

While this is the law of divine grace, it still 
remains true that it is our duty to seek always 
to be strong. Weakness is never to be de- 
sired or sought after as something beautiful, 
as a quality in a noble character. We need 
[ 39 ] 



Cfnng$ tfwt Cttimre 



strength in order to make anything of our 
life. Nothing worthy is ever attained or 
achieved by a driveler. Thousands of men 
with fine possibilities never come to anything 
because of their lack of energy. One of the 
Psalms has in it a call which every one should 
make to his own inner life : "Awake up, my 
glory," There is a great deal of senseless 
condemnation of ambition. The world is not 
by any means a bad one. No doubt there are 
ambitions which are not good, because they 
set only an earthly goal before them. But 
the young man who has no ambition is not 
worthy of the place he occupies in this world. 
He is here not merely to exist as if he were 
a worm, but to make something noble and 
radiant of his life. In every human soul there 
is a glory hidden, a life with immortal possi- 
bilities. It is the duty of every one to wake 
up this glory, that it may find itself and put 
on its beauty and strength. 

A man had an eagle which had grown up 
among the barnyard fowls. For a time the 
bird seemed content to be only a chicken. But 
[90] 



2fremg Mltoayti Strong 

one day it looked up into the sky and some- 
thing in it, sleeping until now, awoke. Flap- 
ping its wings, it soared away toward the 
sun and came back again no more. Too many 
men meant for the eagle-life content them- 
selves with a barnyard existence. Now and 
then they feel something divine stirring within 
them, but they are too indolent to wake up 
their glory and to make the effort necessary 
to take their place in the upper air and among 
the mountain crags. So they spend all their 
days down in the dust, among the lower 
things, never waking up to the meaning of 
their immortality. 

It is strength we need, strength at the 
heart of us, to stir within us the divine life 
that sleeps there, and to lead us out to become 
all that God would have us become, to do what 
he made us to do. Dr. Babcock's lines strike 
the right note: 

Be strong! 
We are not here to play, to dream, to drift. 
We have hard work to do, and loads to lift. 
Shun not the struggle; face it. 'Tis God's gift. 

[91] 



^fungtf tjat Cntrore 



Be strong! 
Say not the days are evil, — Who's to blame? 
And fold the hands and acquiesce — O shame! 
Stand up, speak out, and bravely, in God's 
Name. 

Be strong! 
It matters not how deep intrenched the wrong, 
How hard the battle goes, the day, how long. 
Faint not, fight on! To-morrow comes the 
song. 



[92] 



^trengtfc for a $eto gear 




CHAPTER XII 

Jtoettgtf) for a $eto gear 

E ought to make something of 
every year. They should be like 
new steps on the stairs, lifting 
our feet a little higher. We ought 
not to live any two years quite on the same 
plane. To be content with any attainment 
even for two days is not living at our best. 
The best of Christians grow faint and 
weary in their very faithfulness — not weary 
of, but weary in their tasks and duties. Rou- 
tine is intensely wearisome. Tasks are large 
and exacting, life is dreary in its monotony, 
work seems ofttimes in vain. We sow and do 
not reap. We find disappointment and dis- 
couragement at many points. Hopes bright 
to-day lie like withered flowers to-morrow. Life 
seems full of illusions. Youth has its brilliant 
dreams which come to nought. Work is hard. 
He that saves his life loses it. The price of 
success in any line is the losing of self. We 
[95] 



Clung* tfmt a&tfrore 



must wear ourselves out if we would do good. 
He who takes care of himself, withholds him- 
self from exhausting toil and sacrifice, makes 
nothing of himself. It cost Christ Calvary 
to redeem the world. The mind that was in 
Christ Jesus must be in us, if we would be 
his co-worker in saving the lost. So we grow 
faint and weary, not of but in our service for 
Christ. 

But we can be strong. God has strength 
for us. How does his strength come to us? 
It comes to us in many ways. St. James tells 
us that every good and perfect gift cometh 
down from the Father of lights. No matter, 
then, how the strength comes to us, it really 
comes from God. We may find it in a book, 
whose words, as we read them, warm the heart 
and freshly inspire us for struggle or service. 
We may find it in a friendship whose cheer 
and companionship and helpfulness fill us with 
new courage and hope. Far more than we 
understand, does God strengthen us and bless 
us through human love. He hides himself 
in the lives of those who touch us with their 
[96] 



^trengtf) for a j^eixi gear 

affection. He looks into our eyes through 
human eyes and speaks into our ears through 
human lips. He gives power to us in our 
faintness, and hope in our discouragement, 
through the friends who come to us with their 
love and cheer. The Bible tells us a great 
deal about the ministry of angels in the olden 
days. They came with their encouragement 
to weary or struggling ones. After our 
Lord's temptation, angels came and minis- 
tered to him in his faintness. In his agony 
in Gethsemane, an angel appeared, strength- 
ening him. No doubt angels come now to 
minister to us and strengthen us, but they 
come usually in human love. 

But God's strength is imparted in other 
ways. It comes through his words. We are 
in sorrow, and, opening our Bible we read 
the assurance of divine love, the promise of 
the divine help and comfort — that God is our 
Father, that our sorrow is full of blessing, 
that all things work together for good to 
God's child. As we read, and believe what 
we read, and receive it as all for us, there 
[97] 



Cfjings tfjat <£ntmre 



come into the soul a new strength, a strange 
calmness, a holy peace, and we are at once 
comforted. 

Some day we are discouraged, overwrought, 
vexed by cares, fretted by life's myriad dis- 
tractions, weary and faint from much bur- 
den-bearing. We sit down with our Bible and 
God speaks to us in its words of cheer: "Let 
not your heart be troubled; 95 "Fear not, for 
I am with you ;" "Cast thy burden upon the 
Lord ;" "Peace I leave with you ;" "My grace 
is sufficient for thee;" and as we ponder the 
words, the weariness is gone ; we feel that we 
are growing strong; hope revives, courage 
returns. One who reads the Bible as God's 
own Word, and hears God's voice in its prom- 
ises, assurances, commands, and counsels, is 
continually strengthened by it. 

But there is something better than even 
this. God is a real person and he comes into 
our lives with all his own love and grace. The 
prophet tells us this: "He giveth power to 
the faint; to him that hath no might he in- 
creaseth strength." This means nothing less 
[98] 



Jtengrfj (or a j^eto gear 

than that there is a direct importation of 
divine strength for God's fainting and 
weary ones on the earth. This is a wonder- 
ful revelation. It tells us that the very power 
of Christ is given to us in our weakness, 
passed from his fulness into our emptiness. 
One may stand by us in our trouble and may 
make us a little stronger by his sympathy and 
love, by his encouragement and cheer ; but he 
cannot put any portion of his strength or 
joy into the heart. Christ, however, gives 
strength, imparts of his own life. What the 
vine is to its branch, Christ is to us. If the 
branch is hurt in any way, bruised, broken, 
its life wasted, the vine pours of its life into 
the wounded part, to supply its loss and to 
heal it. That is what Christ does. He giveth 
power to the faint. His strength is made per- 
fect in weakness. The greater our need, the 
more of Christ's grace will come to us. There- 
fore there are blessings which we shall never 
get till we come into experiences of trial. We 
shall never know God's comfort till we have 
sorrow; but then as we learn what grief is, 
[99] 



Cfjtngs; tfjat O&ttmre 



we shall learn also how God gives strength 
and consolation in grief. 

How can we make sure of receiving this 
promised strength? The answer is: "They 
that wait upon the Lord shall renew their 
strength." What is it to wait upon the Lord ? 
It means to trust God patiently, to believe 
in God's love, to accept God's guidance, to 
keep near God's heart, to live in unbroken 
fellowship with God, leaning upon his arm, 
drawing help from him. Prayer is part of 
waiting upon God. When we go to him in 
our prayers, instantly we receive a new sup- 
ply of grace. 

As we wait upon God, abide in Christ, keep 
our fellowship with him unbroken, there flows 
from him to us, into our lives, in unbroken 
stream, strength according to our needs. 
When we are strong, the blessing given is 
less ; but when we are weak and faint, the gift 
of power is increased. As the waters of the 
sea pour out into every bay and channel, 
every smallest indentation along its shore, so 
God's strength fills every heart and is linked 
[100] 



Jtettgtf) for a ^eto gear 

to him. Of his fulness we receive, and grace 
for grace. 

Note also the word "renew" in the promise. 
"They that wait upon the Lord shall renew 
their strength." As fast as the strength is 
exhausted, it is replenished. As fast as we 
give out, God gives anew to us. It is like 
the widow's barrel of meal and cruse of oil, 
which could not be emptied, but which were 
filled up again, as supplies were drawn from 
them. We are to go on with our work, with 
our struggle, with our doing and serving, 
never withholding what duty demands, never 
sparing ourselves when the calls of love to 
God or man are upon us, sure that, waiting 
upon God, we shall ever renew our strength. 
We are in living communication with him 
who made the stars and calls them by their 
names and holds all the universe in being, who 
fainteth not nor is weary. He is back of us 
all the while — all his fulness of life, all his 
important strength — and every emptying of 
life from us is instantly replenished, for he 
giveth power to the faint. Thus it is when 
[ 101 ] 



Cfnng* tfjat <£rtimre 



we give to others in Christ's name ; he fills the 
emptiness. "Give and it shall be given unto 
you," is the Master's word. Thus it is when 
sorrow takes out of our life our loved ones. 
We think we can never go on any more, that 
the sun can never shine for us again, that we 
can never rejoice or sing as before, that we 
can never take up again our work, our tasks. 
But God does not leave the place empty. 

We want to be strong, to be always strong 
— strong in purpose, strong to meet tempta- 
tion. Strong for work, strong for holy living, 
strong in the bearing of sorrow, strong in in- 
fluence among men. We want to walk erect 
and unwearied along life's paths, worthy fol- 
lowers of Christ. We do not want to be 
stumbling and falling every day. The call of 
God to us all is: "Be strong." But we are 
conscious of weakness. We cannot stand 
against the forces of evil that ever assail us. 
We cannot walk erect and steadfast under the 
burdens of life. What can we do? 

Over all the unopened year God casts his 
light. There can be no experience till the 
[102] 



J>trengtfj for a J^eto gear 

year ends for which there will not be strength. 
God never gives a duty but he gives also the 
needed power to do it. He never lays on us 
a burden, but he will sustain us under it. He 
never sends a sorrow but he sends the comfort 
to meet it. He never calls to any service but 
he provides for its performance. We need 
only to be sure that we wait upon God, and 
then all the strength we shall need will be 
given, as we go on, day by day. 

"I asked for strength: for with the noontide heat 
I fainted, while the reapers, singing sweet, 
Went forward with ripe sheaves I could not bear. 
Then came the Master, with his blood-stained feet, 
And lifted me with sympathetic care. 
Then on his arm I leaned till all was done; 
And I stood with the rest at set of sun, 
My task complete." 



[103] 



J^ore tfjan |teeat 



CHAPTER XIII 

Movt tfjan .peat 



HE most important thing about 
us is not our condition or our cir- 
cumstances, but our life itself. 
Experiences are only incidents ; 





\Wk 





the reality in all of us is ourself. The house 
is not the family. The rough weather may 
tear away the roof, or fire may destroy the 
building ; but the family life is not affected 
by either storm or flame. The body is not 
the life. Sickness may waste the beauty and 
strength, or accident may wound and scar the 
flesh. But the true life is the soul within, 
that which thinks, feels, loves, suffers, wills, 
chooses, aspires, and achieves. Amid ever- 
changing experiences — joys and sorrows, 
hopes and fears, gains and losses, smiles and 
tears, — the real life goes on. "Is not the life 
more than the food, and the body than the 
raiment?" It matters little what becomes of 
our money, our clothes, our house, our prop- 
[107] 



C&tng* tfcat Cttimre 



erty, but it is a matter of infinite importance 
what becomes of our real life. "What shall a 
man be profited," asked the Master, "if he 
shall gain the whole world, and forfeit his 
life?" 

The problem of living in this world is ever 
to grow into more and more radiant and 
lovely character, whatever the conditions or 
experiences may be. It is in this that we most 
of all need Christ. We cannot escape tempta- 
tions, but we are so to meet them and pass 
through them as not to be hurt by them, but 
to come out of them with new strength and 
new radiancy of soul. We cannot miss trial 
and difficulty, but we are to live victoriously, 
never defeated, always overcoming. We can- 
not find a path in which no sorrow shall come 
into our lives, but we are to live through the 
experience of sorrow without being hurt by it. 
Many people receive harm from the fires 
which pass over them. Many fall in tempta- 
tion and lie in dust and defeat, not rising 
again. Many are soured and embittered by 
the enmities, the irritations, the frictions, the 
[108] 



.pore tfmn .peat 



cares of life. But the problem of Christian 
living is to keep a sweet spirit amid all that 
might embitter, to pass through the fires and 
not have the flames kindle upon us ; if ye take 
up serpents or drink any deadly thing, to be 
in no wise hurt thereby. 

No one but Christ can keep our lives in 
the countless dangers through which we must 
pass in this world. Danger lurks in every 
shadow and hides in every patch of sunshine. 
There are tempters even in the circles of 
sweetest love. Peter, one of Christ's most loyal 
friends, became as Satan to his Master, tempt- 
ing him to avoid his cross. Our best friends 
may tempt us to self-indulgence, seeking to 
withhold us from the self-denying service to 
which duty calls us. The sweetest joys have 
in them possible harm for our lives. Only 
by committing our lives day by day into the 
hands of Christ can we be kept in safety amid 
the perils of this world. He is able to keep 
us from falling, to guard us from stumbling, 
and to set us before the glory of his presence 
without blemish in exceeding joy. 
[109] 



Cfjings; tfjat OSntmre 



In all the world there is no other but Jesus 
who can do this for us. The gentlest, purest, 
strongest mother cannot keep her child's 
life in absolute safety and bring it without 
blemish home at last to God's presence. The 
truest, wisest, whitest-souled friend cannot 
hold your life in such holy keeping that no 
blemish, no marring, no hurt, shall ever come 
to you. 

Few thoughts are more serious than that 
of the responsibility under which we come 
when we take another life into our hands. A 
baby is laid in the mother's arms. In its 
feebleness it says to her, with its first cry, 
"Into thy hands I commit my spirit. Guard 
my life, teach me my lessons, train my powers, 
hide me from the world's harm. Let no evil 
touch me. Prepare me for life, for eternity." 
Yet every mother who thinks at all knows 
that she herself cannot keep her child's life. 
Her hands are not skillful enough. She is 
not wise enough nor strong enough. 

Her part is faithfulness in all duty to the 
child, — example, teaching, restraint, training, 
[110] 



J^ore tfjan «peat 



the making of a home-atmosphere, like the 
climate of heaven, about the child. 

"The baby has no skies 

But mother's eyes, 

Nor any God above 

But mother's love; 
His angel sees the Father's face, 
But he the mother's, full of grace." 

Blessed is the mother who truly interprets 
God in her own life and in her teaching and 
training of her child. Then Christ will do 
the rest. 

The same is true in a measure of any 
friendship. Have you ever thought seriously 
of the responsibility of being a friend? It is 
a sacred moment when God sends to you one 
to whom you are to be guide and guardian, 
one who trusts you and comes under your in- 
fluence. We are responsible for everything 
we do which may color, impress, or sway our 
new friend's life. If our influence is tainted, 
if we fail to be absolutely true in our words or 
acts, if our dispositions and tempers are not 
Christlike, very sad will our accounting be 
when we stand before God. 

cm] 



CJnngsi tfjat <$nbure 



So it is also when we commit our lives to 
the love, the guardian care, the influence of 
another. Pure, wise, good and rich human 
friendship is wondrously benign. But no hu- 
man friend is perfect. None is wise enough 
to choose always the best things for us. None 
is strong enough to help us always in the 
truest and best ways. Then the sweetest and 
best human friends can stay with us but a 
little while. But the hands of God are safe 
hands for present and eternal keeping. We 
may commit our lives to him with perfect con- 
fidence, knowing that no harm can come to 
us while he watches over us. We shall be 
kept, guarded, sheltered, under wings of love, 
unto the end — preserved and brought blame- 
less and spotless home at last. 



[112] 



Cfje <£m of drifting 



CHAPTER XIV 

^fje &in of drifting 




T is entirely proper for a piece of 
wood to drift on the water. It 
cannot do anything else. It has 
no wisdom to choose a better way 
and no power to resist the force of the cur- 
rent in which it finds itself. It has no re- 
sponsibility for its own movements, and is not 
to blame if it floats idly about in an eddy, or 
is carried into a whirlpool, or swept away in 
a wild torrent. It is right enough for a piece 
of wood to be a waif. 

But it is altogether different with a man. 
Drifting is very unworthy in him. It is in- 
tended that he should choose his own direction 
and forge his own course, whatever way the 
tides may be running or the winds be blowing. 
Man was made to be master, not a mere 
creature, of circumstances. Yet there are 
many men who merely drift aimlessly through 
life. They fall unresistingly into whatever 
[115] 



Cijtng* tfmt Cnbure 



current seizes them for the moment, and are 
borne upon it whithersoever it may carry 
them. When temptation assails them, they 
make no struggle to master it, but let it have 
its way with them. When something happens 
which discourages them, they yield to the de- 
pressing influence without an effort to over- 
come it. When they are confronted by an 
unfavorable condition in their business affairs, 
instead of gathering up all their resources 
and reserves of courage and energy to meet 
the emergency and successfully grapple with 
it, they simply give up and drift to failure. 
The habit of thus dropping into the tide, 
whatever it is, and going with it without re- 
sistance, when yielded to, soon becomes perma- 
nently fixed in the life, until a man seems at 
last to have lost all his power to help himself 
against any antagonism or opposition. 

Resignation is sometimes a virtue, a most 
worthy quality indeed of the devout and rev- 
erent life. We should always be ready to 
resign our will to the divine will, to resign, 
or sign back to him whose right it is to rule 
[H6] 



Cfje £in of drifting 



over us, the control of our life. Nothing is 
worse than to struggle against God. It is a 
sin, and we are hurt also in the struggle, while 
if we succeed we have only got our own way 
in place of God's, which is the greatest pos- 
sible disaster to one's life. We should always 
gladly yield to the will of the Lord whatever 
the cost of yielding may be. What seems loss 
in such yielding is gain. 

"So, when there comes to you or me 
The Father's message, It cannot be! 
Let us rise from the weakness of selfish pain 
And gird our loins in his strength again; 
His plans for us are wide and sweet, 
His love and wisdom guide our feet 
Ever upward and forward and on: 
Deeper joys for the joy that is gone, 
Nobler days for the day that is dead, 
Higher hopes for the hope that is fled — 
These are our Father's gift and will, 
And the seeming loss is a blessing still." 

But there are times when resignation is not 

a virtue, when indeed it is sin. It never is 

the will of the Lord that we should yield to 

any evil influence, that we should drift in the 

[117] 



<3t%tng* tfjat Cttimre 



current of temptation into anything wrong. 
"When sinners entice thee, consent thou not." 
Nor should we allow ourself to give up to in- 
dolence. There are some people who suppose 
they are trusting God and are practising the 
grace of contentment, who really ought to be 
ashamed of their feeble, chronic resignation. 
They are too indolent to struggle. It is not 
God's will that their life should be so weak 
that they shall never try to conquer or over- 
come difficulty. God wants them to quit 
themselves like men, to be faithful in all 
duty, never to yield to discouragement. The 
best prizes in life do not come easily, cannot 
be won without struggle. The worthiest at- 
tainments in character and in possession can 
be reached only through toil and tears. Res- 
ignation means too often the missing of God's 
own plan for the life. Obstacles are put in the 
way, not to hinder us or check our progress, 
but are set as practical lessons to prove the 
earnestness and sincerity of our purpose and 
to discover what kind of spirit we are of. The 
paths have hindrances in them, not to turn 
[118] 



Cfie &in of drifting 



us back, but to call out our courage and 
strength in overcoming them and in making 
a way for our feet through them. It is 
pitiable to see a man standing feebly re- 
signed before hard tasks or in the face of 
difficulties which God meant him to conquer 
and triumph over. 

"I hold 
That it becomes no man to nurse despair, 
But in the teeth of clenched antagonisms 
To follow up the worthiest till he die." 

It should be the purpose of all young peo- 
ple to live victoriously. They should never 
consent to be creatures of circumstances — 
rather, they should create their circumstances, 
or certainly master them, and make all things 
in their life minister to their growth and their 
progress. They should decide for themselves 
the kind of life they are going to live — a 
Christlike life, and then live it in spite of 
temptation, opposition, and hindrance. In- 
stead of drifting in the ways of the least 
resistance, going where others go and doing 
what others do, they should find out what is 
[119] 



Cfjtng* tfjat Cnbure 



right and should do that whatever it may 
cost. 

There is a heroic saying of Nehemiah's 
recorded in the Scriptures. He was governor 
of the returned captives in Jerusalem, and 
he refers to certain questionable things which 
other governors had done. He then said, 
"But so did not I, because of the fear of God." 
It would have been easy for him to go on 
doing as other governors had done, but he did 
not do this; he did his duty before God, in- 
dependently. 



[ 120 J 



Cfje lvalue anb Cte^pongttiilttj> of 
<®ne Htfe 




CHAPTER XV 

Cfje *Mue anb $Lt&ptm&ibility of 
<®ne Htfe 

NCE Elijah thought he was the 
only good man left. It certainly 
seemed so. The king and all the 
people had gone over to Baal and 
Elijah was the only one who stood up for 
God. In fact there were seven thousand others 
throughout the land who had not bowed down 
to Baal, but they were all in hiding and might 
as well not have been on the right side. Elijah 
was really the only one to stand for the Lord 
before the world. 

There come times in the experience of 
nearly all of us when our life is the only one 
to represent God in the place where we are. 
There is a sense in which this indeed is true 
of every one of us all the time. We are always 
the only one God has to depend on at the 
particular piace in which we are. There may 
be thousands of other lives about us. We 
[ 123] 



Cfring* tfjat Cnfcrore 



may be only one of a great company, of a 
large school, of a populous community, yet 
each one of us has a life that is alone in its 
responsibility, in its duty. There may be 
a hundred other men besides you, but not one 
of them can take your place, do your work, 
meet your obligations, or bear your burden. 
Though every other one of the hundred is 
doing his own part faithfully, your work waits 
for you, and if you do not do it it will never 
be done. 

We can easily understand how that if 
Elijah had failed God that day on Carmel, 
when he was the only one God had to stand 
for him, the consequences would have been 
calamitous. Or we can understand how that 
if Luther had failed in the days of the great 
Reformation, when he was the only one God 
had to represent him and his truth, the con- 
sequences would have been tremendous, per- 
haps setting back the cause of Christ's Church 
for centuries. But do we know that the 
calamity would be any less if one of us should 
fail God in our mission any common day? 
[124] 



IMue of <®nz TLiit 



A story is told of a boy who found a leak 
in the dike that shuts off the sea from Hol- 
land and stopped it till help would come, with 
his hand holding back the floods through all 
the night. It was but a tiny, trickling stream 
that he held back, but if he had not done it, 
it would have been a torrent before morning, 
and the floods would have swept over all the 
land, submerging fields and homes and cities. 
Between the sea and all this ruin there was 
only a child's hand all that night. Had the 
boy failed, the floods would have rushed in 
with their merciless destruction. But do we 
know that our own life may not stand any 
day and may not be all that stands between 
some great flood of moral ruin and broad, 
fair fields of beauty? Do we know that our 
failure in our lowly place and duty any hour 
may not let in a sea of disaster, which 
shall sweep away human lives and human 
hopes and joys? The least of us dare not 
fail in the smallest matter, for our life is all 
God has at the place where we stand. 

This truth puts a tremendous importance 
[125] 



Cfnng* tfjat Cnbure 



into all living. We know not what depends 
upon our faithfulness any moment. We may 
think that there can be nothing serious 
enough in what we are doing to-day to de- 
mand our best, that no harm can come from 
our slightly relaxing our diligence. But in 
doing this we certainly are robbing God who 
expects and needs our best every moment, if 
the work of the universe is to go on according 
to his will and purpose. Then we do not 
knew what hurt may result to God's cause 
or what harm may come to human lives from 
our lack of diligence in even the smallest 
matter. 

There are other suggestions. We have 
only one life, but it is our own. No other 
one can live it for us. Our truest and best 
friend cannot choose for us, cannot bear our 
burden, cannot meet our responsibility, can- 
not do our duty. 

"Of all who live I am the one by whom 
This work can best be done, in the right 
way." 

On the other hand, it will simplify our 
[126] 



lvalue of <®ne Htfe 



problem of living to remember that we have 
only our one life to live and to answer for. 
Some people fail to realize this and seem to 
feel a responsibility for the lives and work 
of others. There is a sense in which we are 
to bear one another's burdens and look also 
on the things of others, but this does not 
mean that it is our business to sit in judg- 
ment on others, to assume to know more about 
the management of their affairs than they 
know themselves. We have quite enough re- 
sponsibility in looking after our own life and 
attending to the tasks and duties which be- 
long to us, without charging ourselves also 
with the tasks and duties of others. If we 
live our little life so as to please God, that is 
all we really have strength to do. 

If only we lived after this plan it would 
save many of us a vast expenditure of 
strength and energy which we now give to 
finding fault with the way other people at- 
tend to their duties. It would save us, too, 
from a large measure of uncharitableness and 
from much envy and jealousy. 
[127] 



<$%e JFoUp of ^rtftms into 




CHAPTER XVI 

Cfje ifoUp of drifting into 

1MONG the other drifts of life 
many young people merely drift 
into marriage. The childhood 
friendships, or the casual asso- 
ciations of youth, are nourished until at 
length the potent spell of love falls upon the 
young man and maiden, and by and by there 
is a wedding. Or, the beginning of the at- 
tachment may be a great deal more sudden 
— "love at first sight," a speedy engagement, 
a marriage in a little while, — a marriage 
drifted into, or whirled into, as when a boat 
is swept down the wild rapids. 

The matter of time, longer or shorter, 
makes little difference — in any case the mar- 
riage is drifted into. There was no serious 
thought about the meaning of the step and 
what it involved, no weighing of the responsi- 
bilities to be assumed, no questioning as to 
[131] 



Cfjmgg tftat Cntmre 



whether the parties were ready for the serious 
work before them, no thoughtful study of 
the way to make the love dreams come true. 
Yet of all things in life marriage surely is 
one of the very last that should ever be drift- 
ed into. If there is any step for the taking of 
which young people ought to make deliberate 
preparation, this is the step. If a young man 
discovers that he has made a mistake in his 
business, trade, or profession, he can change 
and take something else without serious detri- 
ment to his future. If a young woman buys 
a new dress and then concludes that she does 
not like it, she can discard it, hang it away 
in the storeroom and get another. If one 
takes a position, and afterward finds that the 
place is not satisfactory, nor the work con- 
genial, it is easy to seek another place. But 
marriage is "for better, for worse, until death 
us do part." Therefore it should not be en- 
tered into unadvisedly or lightly, but rev- 
erently, discreetly, in the fear of God, and 
after most serious thought. It never should 
be drifted into. 

[ 132 ] 



drifting into Carriage 

Yet it would seem that for nearly every 
other step in life there is more deliberation. 
For nearly all other duties there is instruc- 
tion, training. Why should there not be for 
marriage? Why should not mothers talk 
thoughtfully to their daughters of the mean- 
ing of marriage, of the principle which should 
guide them in entering the relation, and of 
the duties which will be theirs when they be- 
come wives? Why should not fathers have 
quiet talks with their sons on the subject, 
telling them what a husband's duties are, how 
he must forget himself and live for the happi- 
ness of the woman he chooses for his wife, 
giving up his own selfish ways and unlearning 
habits he has formed which prove hindrances 
to the blending which alone makes perfect 
marriage ? 

Such wise instruction, given in youth, 
would certainly lead to more thoughtfulness 
on the subject, and thoughtfulness would pre- 
vent many inconsiderate marriages. It is 
often said that "marriage is a lottery," as 
if it were necessarily a sort of game of chance. 
[133] 



Cfjmgg tfjat O&tbure 



But there need not be such uncertainty about 
its outcome, if only young people would give 
serious attention to the subject before enter- 
ing into it. 

For example, the young man should con- 
sider whether the young woman he is inter- 
ested in is fitted to be his wife. Perhaps it 
will be necessary for him to live economically, 
at least for a time. Has this girl had the 
training which will make her a good poor 
man's wife? Will she be able so to manage 
her household affairs that they can live on 
the small income he will have? Then will she 
be willing to live in a plain way, befitting 
their circumstances, and will she be contented 
in doing so? 

Then has she the other gifts and qualifica- 
tions that will make her the dearest woman 
in the world to him? Are her attractions 
such as will wear? There is a vast deal more 
required to make a woman interesting to a 
man three hundred and sixty-five days in the 
year for forty years or more, than to make 
her pleasing or winning for an evening two 
[134] 



drifting into Carriage 

or three times a week or even oftener through 
one winter. 

Then a young man's questioning should 
not be all on the side of the girl's ability to 
make him happy and to be a good, faithful, 
helpful wife. He ought to be quite as severe 
regarding himself, — whether he is the man 
to make this woman the husband she needs, 
whether he can make her happy, and whether 
he is able to devote himself to the holy task. 
This should be a really serious question with 
every young man who asks a girl to be his 
wife. It means that he must make himself 
worthy of her in every way, that he must be 
ready to give up his own preferences in many 
matters and live for her. 

Then while he makes sure that the girl he 
is thinking of so warmly will be ready sweetly 
to share a plain home and close economy with 
him as his wife, he must also make sure that 
he is ready and that he will be able to pro- 
vide for her in a way that will not lay too 
heavy a burden of sacrifice upon her. Too 
many young men never give serious thought 
[135] 



Cfjing* tfjat Cnbure 



to this phase of the marriage problem. The 
result is that many a noble girl, willing to 
share privation and close economies with the 
man she loves, is taken out of a home of frugal 
comfort to endure pinching experiences and 
even wretched poverty, because the man who 
promised to keep, comfort, and cherish her, 
lacks either the capacity or the energy to pro- 
vide for her a comfortable home. 

Whatever other drifting you do, dear 
young people, don't drift into marriage. 
Know what you are doing. 



1188 J 



i|oto $ot to M*to ^mpatljp 




CHAPTER XVII 

i^oto J^ot to J>fjoto ^pmpatfjp 

NE of the suggestions to the 
guests at a noted sanitarium is, 
"Do not ask a neighbor the ques- 
tion, 'How are you feeling to- 
day? 5 " There is a great deal of wisdom in 
this hint. Indeed it contains a whole philos- 
ophy. There are a great many people who 
always introduce their conversation in this 
way when they meet a friend or neighbor, 
especially if the person has been ill, or is in 
the habit of complaining. There are many 
people, too, who like nothing better than to 
have this question asked them, for it gives 
them new opportunities to tell over the tale 
of their miseries, and almost nothing gives so 
much pleasure as this. Indeed, they feel dis- 
appointed when they meet a friend or neigh- 
bor, if some such inquiry is not made. Some 
are even offended if no chance is given them 
to recount their ills. 

[139] 



Cfjingg tijat Cntrare 



A good woman chided her husband for lack 
of sympathy with her because he never asked 
her how she felt, and never showed any inter- 
est in her recounting of the aches, pains, and 
discomforts, that fretted her. The truth is, 
the husband is one of the most sympathetic 
of men. He has a tender heart for suffering 
in any form, even in a dumb animal. It 
grieves him sorely to have any of his family 
really sick or suffering. But the good man 
has learned through the years that his beloved 
wife's ills are not serious, that they are, in- 
deed, usually only tricks of her imagination. 
He has learned moreover that she has a most 
unwholesome craving for what she calls "sym- 
pathy." That is, she likes to have people 
listen to the story of her many afflictions, and 
then express their pity. Any one who will 
not do so is hard-hearted. Her husband loves 
his wife and in any actual sickness or suffering 
has the deepest sympathy with her. But he 
is sensible enough to know that to humor her 
would not be kindness to her, but would only 
pamper and encourage in her a miserable 
[ 140] 



i^oto $ot to J>J)oto <^|>mpatf)j> 

weakness which would make her increasingly 
miserable. 

A few months since a young woman who 
was in a good deal of trouble, financially and 
otherwise, wrote to a friend, telling him quite 
in detail the story of her trials. Her family 
had suffered losses and her parents were in 
much distress at home in the South. She her- 
self was teaching in an institution in the 
North and was receiving only a very small 
salary. The winter was coming on and she 
had no provision in the way of clothing ade- 
quate for its rigors. 

The friend to whom she wrote replied as 
kindly as he knew how, sending also a sum of 
money sufficient to meet her immediate needs. 
He did not, however, refer at length to the 
troubles, the recital of which had filled her 
letter. He sought rather to put hope and 
courage into the young woman's heart, to 
help her to carry her burden more victo- 
riously. Soon an answer came. She thanked 
the friend for the money, and then added: 
"But I must say that your letter hurt me 
[141] 



CJnttga tfjat Cnbure 



very much. I told you of all my troubles and 
of the sufferings of my poor parents, and you 
did not write a single word of sympathy. 
You did not even say 'I am sorry ;' you only 
said, 'Cheer up, my child, be brave and strong 
and keep sweet. 5 " 

The young woman really felt that she had 
been wronged and treated unkindly by her 
friend, because he had not gone over her 
troubles, showing pity for her. There are 
many other people just like this girl. Their 
idea of a friend is somebody to listen patiently 
and interestingly to the story of their woes 
and then to condole with them on the sadness 
of their lot. Any one who fails to do this 
is lacking in human feeling, unable to sym- 
pathize. 

The request made of the guests at the 
sanitarium is an admirable one. It is well 
suited for a place where there are hundreds 
of persons who are sufferers in some way. 
The worst thing these can do is to talk about 
their ailments, to discuss their symptoms, to 
be led in any way to think of themselves. 
[ 142 ] 



i^oto $ot to <£J)oto ^pmpatfjp 

Half the cure is in getting them out of them- 
selves, to forget themselves, especially if there 
is anything wrong with them, and to think of 
other things and other people, and talk of 
matters altogether apart from their own con- 
dition. 

But what is a good rule for patients in a 
sanitarium is a good rule for people outside 
of sanitariums. It were well, indeed, if the 
question were universally prohibited. No one 
has a right to ask another how he feels. It 
is an impertinent question. It is nobody's 
affair how you feel, and you have a right, in 
a Christian way, to resent the liberty any one 
takes when he greets you in this way. 

One of the instructions which Jesus gave 
to the disciples when he sent them forth was 
that they were to salute no one by the way. 
The reason generally given for this instruc- 
tion is that it took a long while to go through 
salutations in the Orient, and time was so 
precious to these men bearing the King's mes- 
sages that they could not pause to go through 
the long program of bowings and motions. 
[ 143 ] 



Cfnngg tfiat Cnbure 



Our modern etiquette does not make it so 
burdensome to speak to people when we meet 
them. Yet there are those you cannot get 
away from quickly if you inadvertently ask, 
"How are you feeling to-day?" They will 
keep you a long while listening to the answer 
to your question. You will save precious time 
by always avoiding such an inquiry. "Good 
morning," is a better salutation. It is more 
gracious. It means more. It touches a more 
wholesome chord in your friend's conscious- 
ness. It is a truer way to be a blessing to 
men. 



[ 144 ] 



Cfjoogmg 0ur Jfrienbsf 




CHAPTER XVIII 

Ci)oo£mg <®ur ifrtenb* 

E all need human friends, not only 
in the days of our gladness and 
joy, but still more in the days of 
our sorrow and suffering. We 
need a human hand to hold ours when we 
are passing through experiences of anguish. 
We want some one beside us in the days of 
our trial, I have read of a patient in one of 
the hospitals in London who was about to 
undergo a serious and dangerous operation. 
The surgeon asked her if she thought she was 
strong enough to endure it. She answered, 
after a moment's hesitation, "Yes, if Lady 
Augusta Stanley will come and sit beside me." 
We crave companionship especially in the time 
when our burdens are heavy and we are pass- 
ing through experiences of anguish. 

No life can reach its best alone. One log 
on a fire will not burn brightly, but if two 
logs are piled together then the one kindles 
[ 147 ] 



Cfring* tfjat Ofrtimre 



the other and the fire burns hotly. Two are 
better than one. We can do more work if we 
have companionship. We can fight more 
bravely in life's battles if another is fight- 
ing beside us. In all life companionship 
strengthens. Not only are two better than 
one, but two are better than two. That is, 
two together are better than two working 
separately. 

Yet not every one that comes near to us or 
that might want to come into our life, is fit to 
be our friend. One of the most serious respon- 
sibilities of life is the responsibility of choos- 
ing friends. This is especially true in the 
case of young people. Youth is the time when 
friendships are most easily formed. All life 
is new, all the world is new. The friendships 
of the youthful days are apt to stay in the 
life unto the end. Really the choice of friends 
is in large measure the settling of a young 
person's whole future. The kind of friends 
we take into our life in the early days we are 
apt to keep always. If we accept and choose 
those who are good, refined, and inspiring, 
[148] 



Cfjootfmg Our Jfrtenb* 

we are setting our life in the direction of what- 
soever things are true, whatsoever things are 
just, whatsoever things are lovely. But if, 
on the other hand, we attach ourselves in 
friendships in youth to those who are un- 
worthy, whose life is earthly and sinful, who 
are not true and noble, we in effect fix our 
place and our character in a drift which will 
be toward things that are not good, that 
do not tend to honor and beauty of soul. 

We grow like those whom we love, in whom 
we believe, with whom we mingle. If therefore 
we choose those who are not worthy, whose 
character is bad, whose influence is unwhole- 
some, we cannot but be hurt by them. On 
the other hand, if we choose for our friends 
those who are good, those who are pure and 
true, whose lives are full of inspiration, we 
cannot but grow better. Many a person has 
been lifted up from a commonplace life into 
nobleness and beauty by the influence of a 
friend. 

I know it is hard to make choice of friends. 
In a certain sense young people's friends are 
[149] 



dungs tfjat OEnfcmre 



chosen for them by their parents before they 
are able to think seriously of the matter. In 
the early childhood days companionships are 
formed which almost certainly make life's first 
friendships. Then Providence brings to us in 
various ways, through our daily associations, 
those whom we take into our life as friends. 
Young people meet others in school, in neigh- 
borhood gatherings, in church life, in the 
associations of work and society. They do 
not choose in this case — persons are brought 
to them and set down close beside them. But 
even in these cases, we should learn to discrim- 
inate between the good and the evil. Good 
seamanship does not let a ship drift on the 
waters. Whithersoever the winds may blow 
it or the tides and currents may carry it, 
good seamanship sails the ship even against 
the winds and the tides. So it should be in 
life. We should not drift anywhere. God 
has given us a mind and a will and we are 
to think for ourselves and choose promptly 
and determinately. 

We should want friends also who have 
[150] 



Choosing 4£ur ifrtenbsi 

sympathy with us. I mean those who can 
enter into our life. No other persons can 
be true companions to us. Sympathy is im- 
portant, not only in the days of sorrow, but 
also in the days of joy. It is easy enough 
to have friends who will feel with us in our 
grief. When trouble falls upon us, those who 
have been scarcely our friends in the past 
will turn to us with kindly feeling and sym- 
pathetic heart and word. It is well to have 
true friends in the hours of adversity. One 
of the best things about friendship is not 
what it does in the ordinary days, but what 
we know it will do when the hour of need 
comes to us. When therefore we are stricken 
down and are in trouble or in sorrow, a friend 
who is a friend indeed will come to us with 
true sympathy. 

But we also need a friend who will come 
to us in our times of joy, who will understand 
our glad days and sympathize with us in our 
most happy moods. Some people are envious 
always of those who are happy and prosper- 
ous. More friendships fail at this point than 
[151] 



Cijmga tfjat <$nbure 



fail in the time of sorrow or want. True sym- 
pathy enters with us into every experience of 
our life. 

We also want others who will think of our 
highest and best good. Too many friends 
bring no strength into our life. We get no 
upward aspirations from them. They put no 
brave thoughts into our mind or heart. They 
move along comfortably in easy-going ways, 
with a sort of placid companionship which 
takes its color from our own experience and 
gives to us no help. If we are in trouble these 
friends come to us and sympathize with us 
in a certain way. They pity us and cry with 
us, saying, "How sorry I am!" But they 
leave us no stronger. True friendship in such 
moods does not pity us too much, does not 
say too many soft things to us. Coddling is 
one of the very worst things friendship can 
do. It is not petting and pampering we need, 
— such manifestations only make us weaker 
and lead us to miserable self-pity. What we 
want is a friend who will put into our heart 
thoughts of better things than those we have 
[152] 



Cfjoostng <®ur Jfrtenba 

yet reached, who will ever inspire us toward 
loftier reaches of life, turning us toward the 
mountain-tops and bidding us to climb the 
rugged slopes to the summit. Emerson says, 
"Our best friend is he who makes us do what 
we can." True friendship would inspire us 
always to do our best. When true friends 
come to us in our time of weakness or suffer- 
ing, instead of pitying us, telling us how sorry 
they are, they speak brave words to us, heart- 
ening us, cheering us, arousing us to nobler 
efforts. What we want from our friends is 
not the lifting away of our burdens but new 
strength to help us to bear the burdens man- 
fully and heroically. It is a misfortune when 
we attach ourselves to a friend who merely 
pities us and does not inspire us to anything 
nobler and truer. 

There is another phase of the matter of 
friendship which is very important. I have 
spoken thus far of the responsibility of choos- 
ing friends, of thinking of their influence 
upon our own lives. This is the most serious 
phase of the subject. -We are always respon- 
[153] 



dunga tfmt oftrtmre 



sible for what we admit into our life. While 
God is our keeper, we are to watch continually, 
that nothing evil may ever be admitted, noth- 
ing that would stain or hurt us. 

But there is another side. We are responsi- 
ble also for our own influence upon those 
who call us friends. We are responsible for 
every word we speak, for everything we do, 
for every disposition, for every look which 
may leave its influence or impression upon 
any other life. While therefore we carefully 
guard the doors of our own heart, so as to 
admit nothing that would harm us, we must 
guard with equal care and diligence the in- 
fluences which we put forth upon the lives 
of others. A story is told of Charles Lamb, 
that once a young person evidently wished 
to have his friendship and give him confidence 
and trust. Charles Lamb wrote to the person 
warning against such confidence, and saying, 
"I am not fit to be your friend." It was a 
brave thing to do. But it is something which 
every one should do unless he is sure that he 
can be true to the person who comes to him 
[ 154] 



Cf)oo*mg 0ur ipriente 

and that every influence of his life may be up- 
lifting, purifying, inspiring and noble. 

But of all friends in the world there is no 
one who can bring to us so much blessing as 
Christ will do. He wants to be our friend. 
He stands at the door of every life and knocks 
for admittance, that he may come in and 
take the inner place in our heart. The friend- 
ship of Christ is pure and holy and heavenly. 
Never in all the history of the world has any 
one been hurt by anything that Jesus has 
done. Therefore take Christ as your per- 
sonal friend. Whatever other friends may do 
for you, he can do more. Sweet as human 
friendship is and rich as it is, it falls far short 
of meeting the deepest needs of our nature. 
Christ only can answer all the heart's crav- 
ings, and satisfy all the heart's yearnings. 
Christ's friendship alone can give us all the 
help we need. He is a very present help in 
every time of need. Human friendship can 
go but a little way with us. Soon we must 
part company, even with the holiest of them. 
One of every two friends must sit by the 
[155] 



Cfnttga tijat ^nbure 



other's bedside and hear the last words and 
feel the last hand-clasp and say the last fare- 
well. But Christ's friendship goes on for- 
ever. He loves us with an everlasting love. 

His friendship takes us also in our sinful- 
ness and guilt, in our defilement and wrong, 
and restores us to beauty and brings us at 
last home to the blessedness of an eternal life. 
Whatever other friendships you may miss, 
miss not Christ's friendship, whatever else 
you may leave out of your life, let no one 
leave Christ out of his life. 



[156] 



Cfje entanglements; of Hotie 




CHAPTER XIX 

Cfje Entanglements! of Hobe 

^'"HERE are other people; we are 
not the only ones. Some of 
the others live close to us and 
some farther away. The law of 
love brings all of these, far and near, into 
certain relations with us. They have claims 
upon us. We owe them love, duties, service. 
We cannot cut ourself off from any of them, 
saving that they are nothing to us. We 
cannot rid ourself of obligations and say we 
owe nothing to them. This relation to others 
is so binding that there is not an individual 
anywhere on the round earth who has not the 
right to come to us with his needs, claiming 
from us the ministry of love. These other 
people are our brothers, and there is not one 
of them that we have a right to despise, 
neglect, hurt, or thrust from our door. 

We should train ourself to think of the 
other people. We ought not to leave them 
[159] 



^fjmg* tfjat O&tbure 



out of any of the plans we make. We should 
think of their interests when we are thinking 
of our own. They have their rights and we 
must consider these when asserting our own. 
No one may set his fence a hair's breadth over 
the line on his neighbor's ground. No one 
may gather even a head of his neighbor's 
wheat or a cluster of grapes from his neigh- 
bor's garden. No one may enter his neigh- 
bor's door unbidden. No one may do any- 
thing that will harm his neighbor. Other 
people have rights which we may not invade. 
Then we owe them more than their rights 
— we owe them love. To some it is not hard 
to pay this debt, for they are lovable and 
winsome. They are congenial, giving us in 
return quite as much as we can give them. 
It is natural to love these and to be kind and 
gentle to them, but we have no liberty of 
selection in this broad duty of loving other 
people. We may choose our personal 
friends, but we may not choose whom we shall 
love in the neighborly way. The Master said : 
"If ye love them that love you, what thank 
[160] 



Cfje Entanglements; of Hobe 

have ye? for even sinners love those that love 
them. And if ye do good to them that do 
good to you, what thank have ye? for even 
sinners do the same. And if ye lend to them 
of whom ye hope to receive, what thank have 
ye? even sinners lend to sinners, to receive 
again as much. But love your enemies, and 
do them good, and lend, never despairing; 
and your reward shall be great, and ye shall 
be sons of the Most High: for he is kind 
toward the unthankful and evil." 

So we see that our neighbor is anybody who 
needs us. He may not be beautiful in his 
character, nor congenial to us ; he may even 
be unkind, unjust, in strict justice undeserv- 
ing of your favor; yet if we persist in claim- 
ing the name Christian, we owe him the love 
that seeketh not its own, that beareth all 
things, endureth all things. 

The love which we are taught to bear to 
other people means service. Love without 
serving is only an empty sentiment. It is not 
enough just to avoid doing people harm. 
Jesus taught that sin is not merely in positive 
[ 161 3 



Cinngg tfjat Cnbure 



acts that are wrong, but also in the neglects 
to do the things we ought to do. Those on 
the left hand will be those who have not fed 
the hungry nor clothed the naked nor visited 
the sick. They may have been very respect- 
able people in many ways, but their failure 
to do the ministries of love about them puts 
them in the wrong company. 

We never can get away from these other 
people. We may have our fine theories of 
living for self, of laying up in the summer of 
prosperity for the winter of adversity, of 
providing for old age, but all these economic 
plans have to yield to the exigencies of human 
need. The love that seeketh not its own plays 
havoc with the plans of mere self-interest. We 
cannot say that anything we have is our own 
when our brother stands before us needing 
what we have to give. 

Every day brings to us its opportunities 
for service of love. Every one we meet needs 
something which we have to give. It may be 
only common courtesy, gentle kindness at 
home, the patient treatment of others in busi- 
[162] 



Cf)e O&ttanglemente of Hobe 

ness, the thoughtful showing of interest in 
the old, in children, or in the poor. On all 
sides the lives of others touch ours, and we 
cannot do just as we please, thinking only of 
ourself, unless we choose to be false to all 
the requirements of the law of love. 

We should never forget that it is by obedi- 
ence to this law of love that we grow. In 
this realm, at least, it is true that what we 
keep we lose, and that only what we give out 
do we really keep. Then in giving we do not 
rob ourself or empty our own heart. When 
we give out love, not less but more love re- 
mains in our heart. Sharing with others adds 
to our own store. 

"No force is lost, no action dies, — 

Let this great thought be ours; 
No good once spent in sacrifice, 

No effort of our powers, 
Can ever pass, or ever die. 

It changes, but remains; 
Life, everywhere, grows rich thereby 

And strength eternal gains." 



[16S] 



Hearnmg tfje Herons! of Hobe at 
#ome 



CHAPTER XX 



Hearmng tfje Herons; of Hobe at 
i^ome 




OME life should be happy. Yet it 
requires thought, care and effort, 
to make it so. We sometimes for- 
get that love's lessons have to be 
learned. We think they should come natu- 
rally, and so perhaps they should. But the 
fact is that it takes a great deal of self-re- 
straint, of patience, of thoughtfulness, to 
learn and live out the lesson of love. There 
are hundreds of homes in which there is love 
and where great sacrifices are cheerfully 
made; and yet hearts are starving there for 
love's daily bread. There is a tendency in 
too many homes to smother all of life's tender- 
ness, to suppress it, to choke it back. There 
are homes where expressions of affection are 
almost unknown. There are husbands and 
wives between whom love's converse has set- 
tled into the baldest conventionalities. There 
[167] 



Cfjmga tfjat Qfrtbure 



are parents who never kiss their children after 
they are babies, and who discourage in them, 
as they grow up, all longings for caresses and 
marks of affection. 

Mary Lowe Dickinson tells this story: A 
little child of eight was very ill and thought 
to be dying. In after years all memory of the 
suffering faded, but she said: "I owe to that 
sickness the knowledge that my mother loved 
me, for she kissed me again and again when 
no one else was there. That memory was the 
most precious treasure that I carried on into 
my womanhood, for until the night before I 
was married I do not remember that she ever 
kissed me again. When she was old, I asked 
her why she never caressed or petted us as 
children, and she said, 'I thought it would 
prevent your being self-reliant. I knew I 
could not always be with you, and I did not 
want you to be dependent on my presence. 5 " 

There is very much more of this lack of 

tenderness in homes than most people imagine. 

There are many homes in which the life goes 

on day after day, week after week, in the 

[168] 



Uearmng tfte ILtsKdn* of Hotoe 

dreariest and coldest routine. Many children 
are cheated out of the expression of love in 
the days when affectionateness would mean so 
much to them. "Many timid girls and boys 
have grown almost to maturity believing that 
nobody ever loved them, because nobody has 
ever told them so." 

There are chilled homes which could be 
warmed into love's richest glow in a little 
while if only all the hearts in the household 
were to become affectionate in expression. 
Does the busy husband think that his weary 
wife would not care any longer for the 
caresses and marks of tenderness with which 
he used to thrill her heart? Let him return 
again, but for a month, to his old-time fond- 
ness, and then ask her if these youthful 
amenities are distasteful to her. Do parents 
really think that their grown-up children are 
too big to be petted, to be kissed at meeting 
and parting? Let them restore again for a 
time something of the affectionateness of the 
early childhood days, and see if there is not a 
great secret of happiness in it. Many who 
[169] 



CJnttg;* tfjat Cntrore 



are longing for richer home gladness need 
only to pray for a springtime of love with 
tenderness that is not afraid of affectionate 
expression. 

"Comfort one another; 
With the hand clasp close and tender, 
With the sweetness love can render, 

And looks of friendly eyes. 
Do not wait with grace unspoken 
While life's daily bread is broken: 

Gentle speech is oft like manna from 
the skies." 

We need never be afraid to speak our love 
at home, however careful we have to be out- 
side, lest we foolishly seem to carry our heart 
on our sleeve. There is little danger of too 
much affectionateness in the family life. It 
needs all the tenderness we can possibly get 
into it. It will not make a boy soft and de- 
pendent to love him and tell him you love 
him. We should make the morning good-byes, 
as we part at the breakfast table, kindly 
enough for final farewells — for they may in- 
deed be final farewells. Many go out in the 
[170] 



Hearmng tfje Herons; of Hobe 

morning who never come back at night. 
Therefore, when we separate even for a few 
hours we should part with kindly words, with 
lingering pressure of the hand, lest we may 
never look again into each other's eyes. 
Tenderness in a home is not childish weakness, 
a thing to be ashamed of — it is one of love's 
most sacred duties, one which never should 
be left out. 

Here are some very practical counsels 
from a recent writer on the question. How 
to cultivate love in the home circle: "First, 
be willing to show the love that already exists. 
i • . Is the husband and father silent 
and gloomy, withdrawn into himself, brood- 
ing, perhaps, over the fact that no matter 
how hard he tries, he never can meet the fam- 
ily demands? Show him that you know he is 
tired, — that you love him for his constant 
effort, that you love him the same even if he 
has failed to do all he had hoped to do. Show 
him how well and cheerfully you can get on 
with a little for this time, sure that the next 
time he will succeed. If you are his daugh- 
[ 171 ] 



Cfjmgs! tfmt Cnbure 



ter, and have acquired the habit of thinking 
of him chiefly as the man from whom the 
money comes for things you need, get out 
of that relation by planning to do, or get 
something for him. Has your mother been 
in the habit of reminding him that your 
birthday is at hand? Find out his birthday, 
and begin to plan for that, a little gift from 
every child, a song sung for father, a little 
speech from his little son, a little fun which 
you can coax him to share — it may mean a 
new life to him, because it means a new sense 
of how truly you love and believe in him," 



[172] 



Hearmng tfje He&tons of 
^atrtotfesm 




CHAPTER XXI 

Heantmg tfje Hes&on* of 
Patriotism 

NE good thing every young man 
may do and should do is to think 
seriously about his duties to his 
country. One of the most 
pathetic stories in all modern literature is 
Dr. Hale's "A Man without a Country." The 
book should be read by every young patriot, 
and when once read it never can be forgotten. 
There are men who, though living in the 
midst of the best that their country has 
for them, enjoying all its privileges so far 
as their own life is concerned, really are men 
without a country. Their souls would seem 
to be so dead that they never say to them- 
selves with any warmth or enthusiasm, "This 
is my own, my native land." They have no 
pride in their country. They know little of 
its glorious history. They never think of the 
cost of the liberties they enjoy as citizens. 
[175] 



Cfring* tfjat Q&tbure 



They give no thought to the duties and re- 
sponsibilities of patriotism. 

But it is dishonorable for any man to be 
as if he had no country while enjoying the 
inestimable blessings which the country has 
brought to him. Patriotism ranks high 
among duties. In all lands treason is re- 
garded as the blackest of crimes. Yet the 
lack of patriotism is a phase of treason. In 
time of war for a nation's life, neutrality is 
regarded as more dishonorable and despicable 
than open enmity. 

One of the finest things in the culture of 
patriotism, is to know the history of one's 
country. It should be studied until its story 
has been absorbed into the very life. Thus it 
was that the ancient Hebrews were trained 
into patriots. They were taught from in- 
fancy the meaning of their nationality and 
its great destiny. Little else was talked of 
in the home, in the field, or by the way. The 
great hopes of the nation were held before 
their eyes until they became tremendous re- 
alities. So patriotic did they grow that when 
[176] 



Cfje He&afona of Patriotism 

carried into captivity nothing could swerve 
them from their loyalty to their country. 
They worshipped God with their faces turned 
toward their holy city. No allurements of 
heathen splendors could make them aught but 
Israelites. 

For another thing, we owe it to our coun- 
try to make ourselves noble and worthy men. 
It is not broad lands, crowded cities, large 
wealth, and a world-encircling commerce, that 
make a nation great; always the real great- 
ness of a nation is measured by its men. It 
is character that is needed if the nation is 
to grow into its finest possibilities. 

One of the dangers of great prosperity in 
any country is that frien shall lose their 
virility, their strength, their power of en- 
durance, their moral stanchness, their no- 
bility of character. Luxury always tends 
that way. A measure of hardship is not only 
safer, but is also a very much better school 
for the training of worthy lives than the ease 
which breeds self-indulgence and softness. 

The great task before the boys and young 
[177] 



Cfjutga tfjat <£ttimre 



men who are now about passing through 
Fourth of July fervors is to make men of 
themselves. That really is what we are 
here for, — not to gather money, to do a 
few things large or small, to win fame, 
to achieve power, but to grow into worthy 
manhood. If he is a benefactor who 
makes two blades of grass grow where there 
was only one growing before, he is much 
more a benefactor who adds some new quality 
to his own character, making himself a some- 
what better man. Patriotism demands of 
young men the very best manhood they can 
build. 

They should be true. Truth is one of the 
foundation stones in every fabric of worthy 
character. It is not enough to be truthful 
in speech, never uttering any false word. One 
may conform to the law of truth in this way 
and yet lack truthfulness in other ways. 
Strength is another quality of patriotic man- 
hood. It is not easy to be good in the busi- 
ness world, in politics, in society. One needs 
to be strong in order to live out noble prin- 
[178] 



Cfje TLmtm& of Patriotism 

ciples and to do the things which a man must 
do if he would take his place among men 
and live righteously. He must be able to 
stand in the face of all manner of opposition 
and temptation and of all subtle influence. 
Then while the patriotic man must be strong 
and true, he must also be gentle. Gentle- 
ness is the flower of noble character. There 
are men who are true and strong, but are 
ungentle, and thus fail of a really noble man- 
hood. Courage is another essential element in 
manliness. Courage is not merely a quality 
by itself in a noble life — it is a necessary 
element in all other qualities. It takes cour- 
age to be true, and to be strong, and even 
to be gentle in a worthy sense. 

Another duty of patriotism is interest in 
all that belongs to the life of the country. 
Every young man should train himself in 
the affairs of good citizenship. Voting is not 
merely a privilege — it is a sacred duty as 
well. The voting should be intelligent. 
Young men should learn to think and to in- 
quire, not casting their ballots blindly and 
[179] 



Cfring* tfjat Cntiure 



thoughtlessly with the party to which they 
are attached, but making sure that they are 
casting them for men who are worthy. The 
twentieth century patriot ought to be inde- 
pendent enough never to be compelled by 
party rules to vote for an unworthy candi- 
date. 

Then voting is not the only function of 
citizenship. It may seem little that one per- 
son can do in making his country better. 
But if each one sees to it, first, that his own 
life is true and worthy, and then, that he 
makes one little spot of his native land a 
sweeter and better place to live in, he has 
done that which is by no means a small or 
an unimportant part in the great wort of 
making the whole country better. 



[180] 



31$ Wtxtpinx a Cfirfettan J^utp? 




CHAPTER XXII 

3te WavvpixiQ a Cijrfettan ^utp? 

|0T many people seem to think of 
worrying as a sin. It would al- 
most appear from the universal- 
ity of the habit that many regard 
it as a virtue. Many persons almost resent 
the suggestion that they should be ataxious 
about nothing, as if it were an effort to in- 
terfere with their personal rights. 

It is quite time we should learn that worry- 
ing is neither a grace nor a duty, but rather 
a most unseemly blemish in a life, and 
a sin that hurts the soul and grieves God. 
The opposite of worrying is peace, and peace 
is enjoined in the Scriptures as the very ideal 
of Christian life. Christ's legacy to his 
friends was his peace. He never worried. He 
never lost his self-poise for a moment. His 
own peace he gives to every one who does not 
reject the gift. He taught, too, plainly and 
forcefully, that worrying is not only useless, 
[183] 



Cfjingsf tfjat Cnbure 



but sinful. "Be not anxious," he said. Our 
heavenly Father feeds his birds ; will he not 
much more bountifully feed his children ? He 
clothes the lilies and the grasses ; will he not 
much more clothe those who bear his own 
image? 

But how can we keep from worrying? St. 
Paul answers this question in a wonderfully 
practical paragraph in one of his epistles. 
He first lays down the rule: "In nothing be 
anxious." He leaves no room for exceptions 
to this rule. It is for every Christian, and 
it covers every experience of each one's life. 
No one can say, "But my case is exceptional." 
Still the quiet answer is, "In nothing be 
anxious." 

What then should we do with the things 
that break so disturbingly into our life; that 
tend so to vex and fret us? If we are not 
to be anxious about these things, what shall 
we do with them? St. Paul answers promptly 
and tells us what to do. "Be not anxious; 
but in everything, by prayer and supplica- 
tion with thanksgiving, let your requests be 
[ 184 ] 



3$ Woxxvins a Christian &uty7 

made known unto God." That is, when things 
break in upon our lives which would naturally 
disturb us, we are to put them altogether out 
of our own hands into God's, and then leave 
them there. 

This is not a mere arbitrary rule — it is 
most reasonable. It means that we trust God 
with the hard things, the tangles, the com- 
plications, the perplexities, of our lives, in- 
stead of trying to look after them ourselves. 
There is no doubt that God has power to deal 
with these things. Neither is there any doubt 
that he is infinitely wiser than we are and 
more able to adjust such affairs so as to make 
them work together for our good. If his care 
for us really includes such matters, there is 
no question about his ability to carry them. 
The only question that can arise is: "Does 
God indeed care for such small things as the 
little frets and tangles of our daily common 
lives?" 

"If I could only surely know 
That all the things that tire me so 
Were noticed by my Lord — 
[185] 



dung* tfjat OEnfcmre 



The pang that cuts me like a knife, 
The lesser pains of daily strife — 
What peace it would afford! 

"I wonder if he really shares 
In all these little human cares, 

This mighty King of kings? 
If he who guides through boundless space 
Each blazing planet in its place 
Can have the condescending grace 

To mind these petty things? 

"Dear Lord, my heart shall no more doubt 
That thou dost compass me about 

With sympathy divine: 
The Love for me once crucified 
Is not the love to leave my side, 
But waiteth ever to divide 

Each smallest care of mine." 

There is no doubt whatever that God does 
care, not only for the great things in our 
lives, but quite as much for the matters that 
concern us. We may bring to him everything 
that troubles us and know that he will take 
it into his own hands and do what is best. 
Of course, we are not absolved from responsi- 
bility — we must always do our duty. The 
secret of not worrying, which Jesus himself 
[186] 



3fe l©orrpmg a CJjr&ttan ^utp? 

gives, is, "Seek ye first the kingdom of God, 
and his righteousness; and all these things 
shall be added unto you." 

The trouble with us, however, is that we 
do not leave our affairs in God's hands. We 
take our perplexities and cares to him, but 
in a little while we gather them back into 
our own hands again, giving God neither time 
nor opportunity to adjust them for us. What 
he wants us to do is to take them to him in 
prayer and then keep our own hands off. 

The promise in St. Paul's cure for care is, 
that if we take everything to God in prayer 
and leave it there, "The peace of God, which 
passeth all understanding, shall guard your 
hearts and your thoughts in Christ Jesus." 
The figure is military. As the army sleeps 
at night in quietness and confidence because 
sentinels keep their watch, so the peace of 
God stands guard over our hearts and our 
thoughts. We have the same assurance of 
divine keeping in the old promise, "Thou 
shalt keep him in perfect peace, whose mind 
is stayed on thee." 

[187] 



^fjmgs! tfmt Cnliure 



This is a lesson which young people should 
set themselves most earnestly to learn — the 
lesson of not worrying. Worry hurts our 
lives. It mars their beauty. It saps their 
strength. It unfits them for doing their best 
work, for no one with a worried mind can 
ever do his best in anything. Besides, it 
grieves God. "In nothing be anxious." 



[ 188 ] 



Raiting or Itearrmg 2faautj> 




CHAPTER XXIII 

leaking or barring 2foautj> 

ITTLE things make perfection." 
In nothing is this more true than 
in character and conduct. There 
are many people who in great 
matters of principle and in the cardinal vir- 
tues are without fault, yet the lustre of whose 
life is dimmed by countless little blemishes 
and infirmities. One man who is upright and 
steadfast, with the firmness of a rock, is hard 
to live with because of his irritability or his 
despotic disposition. Another, who is faith- 
ful in all his dealings with men, whose word 
is as good as his bond, is so harsh and un- 
gentle in his close relations with others that 
he is anything but a comfort and help to those 
with whom he comes in personal contact. An- 
other is full of great benevolent and philan- 
thropic schemes, doing good in many ways, 
yet those who know him most intimately dis- 
cover in him an almost utter lack of the sweet 
[191] 



Cf)mg0 tfjat <£ntmre 



graces and amenities which are the true 
adornment of a Christlike life. 

It is in the little things that most failures 
are made. Little faults honeycomb many a 
character. Little sins ruin many a life. 
Henry Drummond, writing of tropical 
Africa, tells of a species of white ants which 
work desolation wherever they go. One may 
leave his chair at night and go to bed. In 
the morning the chair is there, apparently in 
good condition, but let him sit down on it and 
it falls with him in a heap on the floor. Dur- 
ing the night the white ants have eaten the 
inside out of the legs, seat and frame. Houses 
are in like manner destroyed. The timbers 
are bored through and through, until one day 
the building tumbles to the ground. There 
are human lives which seem strong and right 
to men's eyes, but countless infinitesimal 
faults and sins eat away their substance until 
they fall at last in hopeless ruin. 

It is the little failures in loving which mar 
the beauty of the perfect ideal. There are 
many who would give their very life for a 
[192] 



leaking or parting Sfreautp 

friend, whose love yet lacks altogether the 
gentle things in disposition and expression 
which are needed to fill out the true measures 
of affection. The want of thoughtfulness 
causes untold pain and suffering. 

An hour ago a strong and active man, who 
occupies a high place in the world, was tell- 
ing how he had been going about all day, 
carrying a secret pain at his heart and a deep 
sense of shame because of a mere lack of 
courtesy at his own table in the morning. It 
was so slight that probably no one but him- 
self noticed it. It was not a bitter word that 
he spoke nor anything harsh that he did, but 
only his failure to do a trifling kindness, a 
mere neglect to be gentle when gentleness 
would have meant much. A moment after he 
had left the breakfast table he became aware 
of what he had done, or rather of the oppor- 
tunity he had missed to give sweet comfort 
and help to his wife, and in all the hours 
of his busy day there had been a deep 
shadow hanging over him and a feeling of 
regret and sorrow embittering his heart. 
£193] 



Cfnnga tfmt Cnbure 



Of ttimes it is not the one who does the little 
unkindness or neglects to do the kindness who 
suffers, but the one to whom the unkindness 
or the neglect is shown. There is no doubt 
that the larger part of the pain and heart- 
ache endured in the world is caused by multi- 
tudinous little failures in lovingness rather 
than by life's great and conspicuous sorrows. 
A thoughtful writer says: 

"Taking life through and through, the 
larger part of the sadness and heartache it 
has known has not come through its great 
sorrows, but through little, needless hurts and 
unkindnesses ; not so much through the order- 
ings of Providence as through the mis-order- 
ings of humanity. Look back and you can 
readily count up the great griefs and bereave- 
ments that have rent your heart and changed 
your life. You know what weary months were 
darkened. There was a certain sacredness 
and dignity, like the dignity of a lonely 
mountain top, in their very greatness; and 
looking back, if not at the time, you can often 
understand their purpose. But, oh, the days 
[194] 



JfSafemg or jarring 2freautp 

that are spoiled by smaller hurts, spoiled be- 
cause somebody has a foolish spite, a wicked 
mood, an unreasonable prejudice that must 
be gratified and have its way no matter whose 
rights, plans, or hearts are hurt by it ! There 
are so many hard places along the road for 
most of us, made hard needlessly by hu- 
man selfishness, that the longing to be kind 
with a tender, thoughtful, Christlike kindness 
grows stronger in me each day I live." 

It should be our care to watch the little 
things in our conduct, the minute attentions, 
the small courtesies, the delicate graces and 
refinements of our manner, since by all these 
we add either to the volume of good we do or 
to the measure of pain we' cause. 

There come every day a thousand oppor- 
tunities to be thoughtful, in which are a thou- 
sand possibilities of giving happiness or hurt. 
In the mere tones of the voice in which we 
speak lie the widest opposites of gentleness 
or harshness. 

"It is not so much what you say, 

As the manner in which you say it; 
[195] 



Cfnng* njat <£nfoure 



It is not so much the language you use, 
As the tones in which you convey it. 

"The words may be mild and fair, 

And the tones may pierce like a dart; 
The words may be soft as a summer air, 
And the tones may break the heart. 

"For words but come from the mind, 
And grow by study and art; 
But the tones leap forth from the inner self 
And reveal the state of the heart. 

"Whether you know it or not, 

Whether you mean it or care, 
Gentleness, kindness, love, and hate, 
Envy, and anger, are there." 

It is not enough, therefore, that we seek 
to be true, honest, and just, in all our life; 
we should learn all the lessons of love, so 
that in every disposition and temper and 
word, in every shade of expression, we shall 
be Christlike. 



[196] 



0n tfje ipootpatf) to &uttm 




CHAPTER XXIV 

<®n tfje ipootpatf) to &uttt#x 

jVERY young man, unless he be 
dead to the real meaning of life, 
has in his heart a desire to 
achieve success. He wants to 
do something that will make his living worth 
while. He has dreams of success which shine 
before him in splendor and woo him to earnest- 
ness and energy. He would like to make a 
name for himself that the world will remem- 
ber and honor. It is always in order, there- 
fore, to speak to young men of success. 

Before we talk about success, however, we 
would better define the word. What do we 
mean by success? When we are told that a 
certain man is successful, that he began poor 
and is now rich, that he has risen from ob- 
scurity to great fame and power, we need 
to inquire how he reached his high place. If 
he crawled to it through slime and mire; if 
he trampled conscience and the law under his 
[199] 



^fjmgsi tfjat Cnbure 



feet as he went up ; if he made his money by 
extortion or by dishonesty, his apparent suc- 
cess is wretched failure and his self-compla- 
cent pride an object for our just contempt. 

"He fails who climbs to power and place 
Up the pathway of disgrace. 
He fails not who makes truth his cause, 
Nor bends to win the crowd's applause. 
He fails not — he who stakes his all 
Upon the right, and dares to fall." 

There are certain qualities which always 
belong to the life that is truly successful. One 
is industry. There is no royal road to 
worldly attainment or achievement. Easy 
positions, as a rule, mean failure in the end. 
The pressure of hard work in youth builds 
noble manhood for later years. Charles W. 
Eliot has said : 

"I believe that long hours and hard work 
are best for every man. . . . No man 
can work too hard, or too long hours, if his 
health will permit." We all grow best under 
burdens. It is only the used powers that get 
strong; the unused remain undeveloped and 
• [ 200 ] 



0n tfje ifootpatf) to ^uccesfc 

shrivel up. "The stars would rot in the sky 
were it not for their ceaseless motion." 

Dependableness is another essential quality 
in the winning of success. Lord Lytton says : 
"A man is already of consequence in the 
world when it is known that he can be im- 
plicitly relied upon." Whatever one's duty 
may be, there should never be the slightest 
doubt that it will be done promptly and care- 
fully. Thus the man becomes essential to the 
life of the world — essential in his own place, 
large or small. This means that one's word 
should be sacredly kept, no matter at what 
cost to himself. It means that he will never 
fail in anything that is assigned to him. Life 
is very complicated, and failure in the small- 
est matter may bring great disaster. If a 
watchman does not swing his red lantern, or 
if a switchman does not turn his lever, or if 
the engineer does not see the signal as his 
train flies by, no one can tell what the con- 
sequences will be. One who is absolutely de- 
pendable in his place is on the way to success. 

Economy is also an element in the making 
[201] 



CfnngS tfmt Cnirore 



of success. The cause of poverty is not al- 
ways small income — ofttimes it is leakage in 
expenditures. The habit of saving, doing 
without things which one cannot afford, is 
one secret of prosperity, part of the founda- 
tion of fortune. There is no disgrace in liv- 
ing closely when one's resources are small; 
there is disgrace in living above one's means. 
A writer on success says: "The way a 
young man spends his leisure time is a sure 
index to his future." One of the papers con- 
tained a good commentary on this wise say- 
ing: "Two men stood at the same table in a 
large factory in Philadelphia, working at the 
same trade. Having an hour at noon, each 
undertook to use it to accomplish a definite 
purpose. One of the men employed his daily 
leisure in working out the invention of a ma- 
chine for sawing a block of wood in any de- 
sired shape. He succeeded and sold his patent 
for a large sum of money. The other man — 
what did he do? Well, he spent his noon hour 
for nearly a year in the very difficult and im- 
portant task of teaching a little dog how to 
[202 ] 



<®n tfje ifootpatfj to Jnitce&s 

stand on his hind feet and dance. He suc- 
ceeded, too, but he still works at his old bench 
and bitterly complains of the unjust fate that 
keeps him poor while his old fellow-workman 
has become rich." 

Courtesy is among the qualities which 
lead to success. A man who is rude, uncivil, 
thoughtless, or ungentlemanly in his treat- 
ment of others will never make much of his 
life. A true gentleman will never inten- 
tionally or even heedlessly hurt another's feel- 
ings. He is as kind, too, to the poorest and 
lowliest as to the rich and the highest in rank. 
The mere commercial value of civility is al- 
most incalculable. But true courtesy is not 
a superficial quality. It is not merely good 
manners. It begins in the heart. It is inter- 
est in people, real, not assumed interest. It 
has an errand to every one, — not to get some- 
thing from him, but to give him something, 
to do something for him; not to be served 
by him, but to serve him. With this spirit 
in the heart, one is always sincerely and un- 
affectedly courteous, and he who meets others 
[203] 



Cijingg tfmt Cnbure 



in this way is recognized as their friend and 
cannot fail in his work. 

It should always be remembered, too, that 
true success must take in all the life — not 
only up to the day of a man's death, but after 
that, through the vast forever. One of Mr. 
SilPs poems asks: 

What may we take into that vast Forever? 

That marble door 
Admits no fruit of all our long endeavor, 

No faun-wreathed crown we wore, 

No garnered lore. 

What can we bear beyond the unknown portal? 

No gold, no gains — 
Of all our toiling; in the life immortal 

No hoarded wealth remains. 

Naked from out the far abyss behind us 
We entered here. 

Into the silent starless night before us 
Naked we glide. 

In the last analysis, the only real success 
is character, the building of a life which we 
may carry into the long hereafter. 
[204] 



Cause* of Jpatlure 



CHAPTER XXV 

Causfeg of ifatlure 




OMETIMES, near the ocean 
shore, one sees a green flag, in 
shreds and tatters, bearing the 
word "Wreck," floating over the 
mast or some other part of a vessel, just vis- 
ible above the water. The flag is to warn 
other craft off the wreck that lies there. Over 
many men's lives a like warning might float. 
What can be sadder than a wrecked immortal 
life? Yet the sea is not so full of wrecked 
ships which have gone down in storms or upon 
its fatal rocks, as in life's sea, down into 
whose dark depths have gone human hopes 
and possibilities and immortalities. We talk 
sometimes with pathetic sadness of what the 
ocean contains, of the treasures that lie 
buried beneath its waves. But who shall tell 
of the treasures that are hidden in the deeper, 
darker sea of life, where they have sunk in 
times of defeat and disaster? 
[207] 



Cfring* tfjat <£nbure 



The following question was sent, with 
others, to a number of gentlemen : "So far as 
you have observed, what are some of the prin- 
cipal causes of the failure of young men — 
meaning failures in the wider sense, in char- 
acter and also in business career?" The 
answers have taken a wide range, covering 
both the business and the moral side of life. 

A merchant writes: "I and my brother 
commenced in the house in which I am now 
senior partner, when we were boys of twelve 
or thirteen. With one exception all the boys 
who were then in the house have made ship- 
wreck of life, by bad company, wine, etc. The 
same story, almost, could be written of nearly 
all the houses on the street, — since I began 
business — two or three young men saved and 
succeeding, the others failing, lost." 

Another writer, a younger man, but ob- 
servant and thoughtful, answers : "The causes 
of failure are, no positive aim in life, no 
special preparation. Lack of appreciation 
of the many opportunities for self-improve- 
ment in youth; satisfied to be in the swim 
[208] 



Cause* of failure 



of fashion and pleasure; haste to get rich; 
selfishness." 

Another thoughtful man replies : "Indirec- 
tion, lack of systematic habits, of thorough- 
ness, of moral rectitude. As a rule, men do 
not succeed because they have no definite pur- 
pose ; also, because they fail to make a proper 
use of the means of improvement at hand. I 
know many young men who are to-day filling 
obscure positions and simply because in their 
days of opportunity they neglected to pre- 
pare themselves for what the future might 
bring them." Napoleon once told some school- 
boys that every missed lesson left an opening 
for future disaster. Wellington said that 
Waterloo was fought and won while he was 
still a school-boy; that is, the preparation 
which made the battle and the victory pos- 
sible, was made in his early years. So it is 
in every successful life. The things the boys 
are doing now will make or unmake their 
future. 

"The common things of the common day 
Are ringing bells in the far away." 



[209] 



firings! tfjat Cntmre 



Another writer says : "I have observed that 
young men often are very thoughtless. That 
is, when they start out in life they do not con- 
sider or take hold of the many opportunities 
that offer, but think more of present pleas- 
ure and ease than of the building of charac- 
ter or making a business success." In other 
words he means to say that selfish indulgence 
draws them away from hard work. Blessed 
be drudgery in early life ! That young fellow 
is to be pitied who in his first years has short 
hours, easy work, good pay, luxurious sur- 
roundings, and a good many golden hours 
without their tasks. He thinks he is fortu- 
nate, and his mother thinks he is fortunate; 
but in truth he is not. He is getting a false 
idea of life, for no such easy life ever can 
amount to much in the end. He is leaving 
great patches of the fields of his blessed days 
empty, without their burden of work and dis- 
cipline, and very soon the devil will sow tares 
in these unfilled hours. 

Another thoughtful answer is this: "Lack 
of confidence in self is a cause of failure. A 
[210] 



Cautfe* oi failure 



careless habit, not thorough, the tendency 
to slight his work. 'Oh, that will do!' is his 
standard and becomes his habit, and a bad 
habit it is. It has wrecked many a young 
man's prospects. Nothing inspires confidence 
on the part of an employer more quickly 
than thoroughness and reliability in a boy. 
He may not be specially quick or bright, but 
if he can be depended on to do well the task 
assigned him, his position is assured. The 
'plodder' we sometimes call him." 

The fourth reason is given. "Lack of a 
high ideal of concentration and tenacity of 
purpose. Lack of self-control and self-denial. 
They (young men) have not a proper con- 
ception of the divineness of life, and are un- 
willing to pay the price of success. They 
work only to the extent necessary to keep 
positions, and really live and work to get 
pleasure outside of business hours." 

Another says : "Lack of thorough earnest- 
ness and a failure to grasp opportunities. 
Usually it is not lack of brains or of intelli- 
gence that keeps men down; but strangely 
[211] 



Cfjitts* tfmt Ofrtirore 



many get the impression that the position 
should seek them instead of their seeking the 
position. So they fail to try to honor the 
place they fill." There is here a very im- 
portant suggestion. No man can succeed in 
a position whose duties he tries to do merely 
with the least possible work. He must take 
his share of the burden of the work or busi- 
ness and make the responsibility his own. 

Again a writer — a man whose life has 
reached rare nobleness in character and rare 
success in business, says: "The principal 
causes of failure in a business career are, 
granting that natural ability is sufficient — 
lack of application, lack of integrity or re- 
liability, or lack of contentment with one's 
situation. I have in mind men who might 
have succeeded if they had been contented 
with the ordinary duties in which providence 
had placed them, but through an ambition to 
accomplish something much more striking, 
they have failed to make even an ordinary 
success." 

Most of the quotations made thus far refer 
[212] 



Cautfe* of ipailure 



to the causes of business failure primarily. 
But the moral side has also had a place in 
many of the letters. One names : "Moral 
cowardice; fear to say no to the invitations 
of companions to take the first drink or to 
visit houses of questionable repute; the 
perusal of vile literature; accepting and 
choosing the companionship of impure and 
unworthy persons." Another names: "Es- 
trangement from home and its consequence, 
bad company. When boys and young men 
learn to dislike home and love to be any place 
more than at home, they have taken the first 
step downward." 

Another names gambling as a cause of 
moral failure. I am glad of an opportunity 
to refer to this vice which to-day ranks along- 
side the saloon and the sin of impurity in 
its ruinous work among men. I do not be- 
lieve any of us are aware of the extent of 
gambling in our present-day life. It begins 
in the groups of school-boys playing marbles 
on the sidewalks and it extends up to the 
stock-rooms where men gamble with railroads 
[213] 



Cfjmgs! tfmt Cnbure 



and mines and great trusts and millions of 
margin for stakes. You find it in parlors 
and in pool-rooms, in railway trains and on 
ocean steamers, in charity entertainments and 
even in church fairs. And the extent of the 
curse of it no one knows. The young man 
who first entertains the suggestion that 
he may make money by chance, without 
legitimate work or the exercise of skill has 
opened his heart to a seed of moral poison 
which, unless quickly cast out, will produce 
moral ruin. A wise man has said, "There 
is no dry rot that spreads so fast from the 
smallest speck upon the character as the 
gambling passion." 

Life is too noble, too great, too rich in 
possibilities to be thrown away. God has 
given to each of us a soul, a life, to keep, to 
build up into beauty, to use in holy service, 
to account for at last, at God's bar. Let us 
be faithful. Let us make the most possible 
of ourselves. God will help us. Let us put 
our hands in Christ's. Let us yield to Him. 
Then come what may, we cannot fail. 
[214] 



^ticking to #ne'tf Calling 




CHAPTER XXVI 

^ticking to <®ne'* Calling 

HE wandering habit is not a good 
one. It is apt to breed restless- 
ness of mind, which is not a 
wholesome spirit in any life. Be- 
sides, one never can do one's best work as a 
nomad. Going from place to place gives no 
opportunity for leaving a deep and abiding 
impression anywhere. At the end of such a 
life, however long it may have been, there 
is but little left to tell the story. 

Another disadvantage of such a career is 
its effect upon the person himself. He does 
not grow into strength of character. He 
never achieves the capacity for endurance, 
for long-continued and persistent effort. He 
never wins in the confidence of his fellows the 
quality of dependableness. He never becomes 
a man to whom others turn for a wise judg- 
ment. He never acquires a strong and wide 
influence. 

[217] 



<Cfnnga tiwt ofrrtmre 



Far different is it, however, with the man 
who forms settled habits and devotes himself 
to one great purpose with undeviating per- 
sistence. He is like a tree planted. He takes 
root and grows. He becomes a feature of the 
place in which he is rooted. This may not 
always mean, either, that a man lives all his 
life in the same house. The work of some 
men requires them to go from place to place. 
St. Paul was a missionary to the whole world, 
eager to carry the gospel to every land. He 
would preach a little while in one city and 
then press on to another. He was restless 
with a passion for souls. Yet he could say 
and truthfully, "This one thing I do." His 
aim was single, and there was one great pur- 
pose filling his heart in all his journeying by 
land and by sea. Other men, in like manner, 
travel much and yet never take their eyes 
off their life's goal. 

But there are some men who never settle 

down to anything. They begin one thing 

and are enthusiastic in it for a little time, 

until they hear of another place or occupa- 

[218] 



J>ticfemg to <®ne'$ Calling 

tion which seems more promising. They then 
try this for a short while, until they are lured 
from it by something else yet more attractive. 
Thus year after year they are continually 
moving on, and when the end of life is reached 
they have nothing to show for the time they 
have been in this world. 

There are many advantages in a settled 
life. It enables a man to put all his energies 
into one occupation, to sow all his life in one 
field. That is all the average man can do 
with any hope of success. Not many of us 
are versatile enough to succeed in two or three 
callings. Most of us have but light enough 
to brighten one little corner of God's great 
world. If we try to scatter our light more 
widely, its shining will be too dim and diffuse 
to be a benediction to anybody. A man who 
lives in a dozen different towns or cities dur- 
ing the forty or fifty years of his active career 
has made but slight impression anywhere, 
however good a man he may be. On the other 
hand, one who spends most of his life in one 
town or neighborhood, giving it the best of 
[219] 



Cfjmg* tfjat Cnbure 



his wisdom, his energy, his thought, his love, 
his influence, has wrought himself inextrica- 
bly into all the life of the place. 

This principle has wide application. There 
is a liberal education in the discipline which 
trains a life into a settled purpose and into 
persistent devotion to one thing. Such a 
habit has its influence, for example, in the 
matter of one's friendships. There are many 
who so scatter and thus dissipate their affec- 
tions that they become altogether incapable 
of being any one's real friends. People are to 
them what flowers are to bees. They fly 
about everywhere, and wherever they dis- 
cover a sip of honey in a flower they descend 
upon it, extract the sweet, and then fly on 
again. Of course, one must love all in the 
Christian sense and be kind and courteous to 
all, ready to help ; but that is not what friend- 
ships mean or should mean. Jesus himself 
poured out his love on every life, the lowliest, 
the most debased, as the sun pours his beams 
on weed and bog as well as on the flower and 
garden; yet he had his few personal friends 
[220] 



^ticking to <®nt f & Catting 

who were admitted to the inner circle, and to 
whom he turned for love and sympathy and 
bread for his heart's hunger. If we would 
know the meaning and the blessedness of 
friendship, we must choose our few friends 
wisely and cling to them until death us do 
part. 

The same principle applies to church life. 
The best and most fruitful Christian life is 
the one that takes root in one place and grows 
there, unless uprooted by Providence, unto 
the end. There is a large class of people, 
however, in these days who go from church 
to church, take root nowhere, are of no use 
anywhere. They are gadders-about. Dr. W. 
Robertson Nicoll, in writing of our Lord's 
counsel, "Go not from house to house," has 
this to say about those who wander from 
preacher to preacher and from church to 
church : "Of all degraded Christian types the 
sermon-hunter seems perhaps the lowest. One 
step higher is the religious tramp, who never 
stays more than a few months in any church, 
treating it like a casual ward. This gypsy 
[221 ] 



<3Tf)mg* tfjat Cnbure 



spirit proves in the end as hostile to true 
holiness as to real usefulness." 

In contrast with this wandering habit is 
that of the good people who love their own 
church so much and are so devoted to its work 
and worship that they are never absent unless 
ill, or unless some other clear duty calls them 
away. Such people get the best a Christian 
church has to give to its faithful members 
and then give to others the best that they 
can give. 



[222] 



Cfje Itefettfife of tije <&iit of <£peeri) 




CHAPTER XXVII 

Cfje jptettfe of tfje <®tft of ^peetf) 

PEECH is one of the noblest en- 
£l dowments of humanity. We are 
so familiar with its use that we 
do not appreciate the wonder of 
it. It is a gift, too, that is capable of meas- 
ureless development. Now and then, we see 
or hear a person who has attained something 
marvellous in the power of expression in 
speech or in song, as in the eloquence of 
Demosthenes and the songs of Jenny Lind. 
But these remarkable achievements are only 
hints of what is possible in high degree, at 
least, in every human voice. No doubt there 
have been countless men and women who never 
attained any special power, who never became 
famous as speakers or singers, yet who had 
the natural gifts and needed only education 
and training to make them as remarkable as 
the few whose eloquence or music has thrilled 
countless hearts. There is a serious misuse 
[225 ] 



Cfnng* tfiat OEnbure 



of the gift of speech, therefore, in the failure 
to make the most of it. 

There is also a misuse of this glorious gift 
in the matter of speech in the quality of the 
words which are spoken. The faculty of 
speech is bestowed upon us not merely as an 
ornament, but primarily as an instrument 
with which to do good. It is intended that 
we shall speak only such words as will help 
others, giving them pleasure, comfort, or 
cheer, imparting knowledge and instruction, 
inspiring in them noble thoughts, gentle feel- 
ings, kindly impulses. We never can under- 
stand the full measure of the good we may 
do with our power of speech. Single sentences 
have lifted lives from despair to hope. Words 
have saved souls. By a few minutes' talk hu- 
man destinies have been changed from death 
to life. 

The power of speech is simply incalculable. 
Think of the words of Jesus, for example, 
spoken while he went about over the country, 
and then try to estimate the blessings to the 
world from their influence. Some one has 
[226] 



I&feutfe of tfje <$ilt of ^peecfj 

compared these words to a handful of sweet 
spices, cast into a bitter sea, to sweeten its 
waters. The words of Jesus have sweetened 
and are still sweetening the world's bitterness, 
wherever they go. No other words have such 
power as these words, and yet there is not 
one of us who could not enrich the world 
and scatter blessings through the words 
which we drop from our lips, day after day. 

Yet how many of us fail to make the most 
of our gift of speech! How many people 
there are whose words, instead of giving 
cheer, encouragement, inspiration, and help, 
only give pain, start bitter thoughts, or hurt 
lives ! The Bible speaks of the poison of asps 
as being under men's tongues. With all its 
marvellous power to give pleasure and good, 
how often is it that the gift of speech is de- 
based into an instrument of hurt and harm! 

Conversation is an index of character. Our 
words approve us or condemn us. The wisest 
of all teachers said, "Out of the abundance 
of the heart the mouth speaketh." So our 
speech reveals what is in us, whether good or 
[227] 



Cijittg* tfjat Cntmre 



bad. We sometimes see persons whose appear- 
ance is attractive. We are much prepossessed 
in their favor, while we only look at their 
features. But when they open their mouths 
and begin to speak, the pleasant illusion van- 
ishes. Perhaps the tones of the voice are 
enough — they are harsh, or angry, or fretful, 
or denunciatory. Or the tone may be un- 
objectionable, and yet the words they speak 
may be ungentle, bitter, censorious, defama- 
tory. "Thy speech betrayeth thee." 

We judge by one's accent, even in a brief 
conversation, from what part of the country 
he comes — from the South, from New Eng- 
land, from the West, or from this or that 
country over the sea. So we discover in a 
little while in talking with a stranger what 
manner of man he is, — refined or unrefined, 
modest or self-conceited, kindly disposed to 
people or critical and harsh in judgment. 

There is a large class of people whose con- 
versation is almost entirely about their neigh- 
bors. If you overhear two of them talking 
together anywhere, you will find that some 
[ 228 ] 



.pfettfe of tfje <$tft of ^peecfj 

other human being is the subject. It is not 
often, either, that they are saying good and 
kindly things of the person. In ninety-nine 
cases in a hundred, it is some fault-finding 
that you hear, some criticism, perhaps some 
unsavory gossip which involves the good 
name of the one who is being talked about. 

There is a great deal of disloyalty in con- 
versation. It is too rarely that we hear ear- 
nest commendation of others. Even of their 
most intimate friends people are likely to 
speak disparagingly when they are absent. 
If it is always true that "out of the abundance 
of the heart the mouth speaketh," what shall 
we say of the sincerity of the friendship 
which, the moment the friend's back is turned, 
is unequal to the task of speaking loyally of 
him, and is ready even to join in depreciatory 
words concerning him? 

In many other ways is the gift of speech 
misused. The Master says that for every 
idle word we must give account; yet how 
many idle, chaffy words are spoken every 
day! How empty is much of the staple of 
[ 229 ] 



Cfnnga tfmt <£ttimre 



the conversation of the parlor! Then there 
are countless words which are not idle and 
empty only, but are full of evil — bitterness, 
unkindness, and falsehood. 

Is it not time that the New Testament 
teaching should be applied to conversation? 
"Wherefore, putting away falsehood, speak 
ye truth each one with his neighbor." "Let 
no corrupt speech proceed out of your mouth, 
but such as is good for edifying as the need 
may be, that it may give grace to them that 
hear." 



[ 230 ] 



Cfje ganger of Calfemg too 
.pud) 




CHAPTER XXVIII 

Cfje danger of Calkins too 

|ANY people talk too much. There 
are scarcely any of us by whom 
are spoken no words which it were 
better to have left unspoken. All 
unkind words belong to this class. We talk 
too much when we speak angrily, when we 
say a word that hurts another. Some people 
seem nearly always to be talking this way. 
They rarely ever say a generous word of any 
one or to any one, or a word which gives com- 
fort or help. Their speech is full of un- 
charitable criticism or fretful complaining. 
If they spoke only when they had really good 
words to say, they would be silent much of 
the time. We talk too much whenever we 
say anything unkind or anything that need- 
lessly gives pain to a gentle heart. 

Another kind of speech that would better 
not be indulged in is that condemned by our 
[233 ] 



Cfnttga tgjat Cnbure 



Lord when he said that we must give account 
for every idle word. It need not be a hurt- 
ful word — if it is only idle, it is unfit to fall 
from a Christian's lips. Idle words are those 
that are empty, empty of love and of good, 
words of no value. There are many such 
words spoken. They may appear harmless ; 
and yet they are useless and uselessness al- 
ways disappoints the Master. They give no 
comfort, they put no cheer into any heart, 
they inspire nothing beautiful in any soul. 
Too much of the conversation of the parlor, 
of the wayside, of the table, is of this vapid 
and empty order — talk about merest noth- 
ings, inane, without thought, without sense, 
without beauty, without meaning. How it 
must astonish the angels to hear immortal 
beings using their marvellous gift of speech 
in such a trivial, idle way ! We talk too much 
when we use idle words. 

We talk too much when we speak rash 

words. It was a wise counsel which the town 

clerk of Ephesus gave to the people, when 

he said to them: "Ye ought to be quiet, and 

[234] 



Calking too Iteuci) 



to do nothing rash." No lesson needs to be 
urged more repeatedly than this. Inconceiv- 
able harm comes from rash talking. Many 
people are rash in giving their opinions on 
subjects concerning which they really have 
no knowledge, of which they have never 
seriously thought. Many are rash in blaming 
and condemning others, without taking time 
to inquire into the circumstances, or to hear 
explanations. Others are rash in giving way 
to temper and saying words that are not only 
unseemly, but are also cruel and unjust. In 
some families, the home life is greatly marred 
by rash words spoken in the common inter- 
course of the home. Sometimes it is a habit 
of contradicting and disputing which has 
been allowed to grow until it has become in- 
veterate. Usually the questions wrangled over 
are of no importance. The other day there 
was a serious dispute over the question whether 
it was two o'clock or a quarter past two 
when a certain thing occurred, and the con- 
tention caused bitter anger and sharp words. 
There are families in which gentle and kindly 
[235] 



Cfjmgs tfjat <£ttfrore 



speech is the exception — the staple talk is ill- 
tempered, dictatorial, or unloving. Outside, 
people dare not speak petulantly or angrily, 
for their neighbors would resent such lan- 
guage. But in the inner circle of love they 
remove the restraint, and their words too 
often cut deep into tender hearts. Though 
love forgives hasty speech, the wounds remain 
and bleed. We talk too much when we speak 
hastily and rashly. 

We talk too much, too, when we talk about 
ourselves. The wisest men scarcely ever 
speak of themselves. Certainly those who are 
most highly honored in any community do 
not. The man who habitually talks about 
himself and his affairs and his doings declares 
himself a self -conceited egotist, and this prac- 
tically neutralizes his influence. The better 
judgment of good people everywhere ap- 
proves the man who, if great, is not aware of 
his own greatness; if a saint, is unconscious 
of his own saintliness. One of the finest 
things in the story of Moses is that when he 
came down from the mountain bathed in 
[236] 



CaUung too Mwb 



heavenly radiance, he "wist not that his face 
shone." If he had been aware of the bright- 
ness of his features, the moral glory would 
have been dimmed. But too many seem to 
be aware that their faces shine, even though 
the radiance be not very bright. 

It may be set down as a rule, without ex- 
ception, that the man who talks about himself 
is talking too much. But who will tell people 
about our attainments and achievements if we 
do not? We need not trouble ourselves about 
that. It is not necessary that people should 
know how great we are or what good things 
we do. There is nothing either lovely or 
Christlike in the desire that the world should 
know of the fine things we do. On the other 
hand, our Lord said some very plain things 
about those who blow trumpets, when they 
do anything good or fine, to call the world's 
attention to themselves. Suppose we do our 
work well; it is no more than it is our duty 
to do. And are we the only people who have 
done and are doing their work well? 

Talking about one's self is perilous because 
[237] 



Cfnttg* tfmt Cnbure 



when we begin it we are sure to go on from 
bad to worse. There is a strange fascination 
about it. It intoxicates us and lures us on. 
We would better not begin. It may rob us 
of the pleasure of saying some things we 
would like to say, but it is better we should 
endure the pain of such self-denial and self- 
restraint rather than incur the danger into 
which beginning to talk about ourselves would 
lead us. 



[238] 



Sfroote Wovfy Wtylt 



CHAPTER XXIX 

2foofea Wovtb WW 




UCH is said in commendation of 
books. But, as in other matters, 
there is need for wise discrimina- 
tion in what one reads. Not all 
books are worth reading. There are many 
that are utterly empty of anything that is 
good or worthy. One might read them con- 
tinually all one's life and yet be no wiser and 
no better. A hundred of them do not contain 
a dozen sentences that it is worth while to 
keep in one's memory or that can be of any 
help or cheer or strength in one's life. This 
is true of many novels. They may excite a 
passing interest or emotion as they are read, 
but when they have been laid down they have 
left in the life no trace of beauty, no in- 
spiration, no visions of loveliness, no impulses 
toward higher things, no enrichment. The 
best that can be said of such books is that 
they are harmless. They could not be in- 
[241 ] 



Cfjmga tf)at aSnfcure 



dieted for bad moral quality. They leave no 
debris of vile rubbish behind. Yet the effect 
of such reading is really harmful. It vitiates 
the mental appetite and destroys the taste for 
anything solid or substantial. It enfeebles the 
power of attention, thought, memory, so that 
the mind is less able to grapple with im- 
portant subjects. 

Then there are books which are positively 
pernicious in their influence. There are all 
grades and degrees of evil in this class. Some 
of them carry a subtle poison in their atmos- 
phere which even seems delicious to those who 
breathe it. We need to keep most careful 
watch over our hearts that nothing ever shall 
tarnish their purity. Any corrupt thought, 
dallied with even for a moment, leaves a stain 
upon the mind which may never be effaced. 
It is told how a certain painter could not look 
upon a revolving object when engaged in his 
work without seeing the effect of it in the 
productions of his brush afterward. If we 
would keep the tender joy of our heart ex- 
periences unbroken, we must hold rigid watch 
[242] 



Sfoofcsi !©orrt) Wfyk 



over our reading, conscientiously excluding 
not only whatever is obviously impure, but 
all in which lurks even a suggestion of evil. 

A writer says : "Never read a book that is 
not worth reading for some end beyond the 
short-lived pleasure of a little excitement. 
A book is mainly to be judged by the gold 
dust which it leaves in the mind as it sweeps 
like a river through its channel. You may 
get to be like a river bed that is full of the 
riches of a lifetime, borne to you by the 
streams from noble lives." Here is a word 
also from Richter: "The wish falls often 
warm upon my heart that I may learn noth- 
ing here that I cannot continue in the other 
world, that I may do nothing here but deeds 
that will bear fruit in heaven." 

When we think of the influence which our 
reading has upon our lives, we see at once the 
importance of selecting only books that are 
worth while. At the best, none of us can read 
one book in a thousand of those which are 
within our reach. Manifestly this one book 
ought, then, to be the best in all the thousand. 
[243 ] 



string* tfjat Cntrore 



Yet many persons make no choice whatever. 
They take the "last novel," regardless of its 
character. Many books are made only to sell. 
They are written, set up in type, electro- 
typed, printed, illustrated, bound, decorated 
— all for money. There was no high motive 
in the writer, no thought of doing good, of 
starting a new impulse in some life, of adding 
to the treasure of the world's knowledge or 
joy. They were made simply to sell. So it 
comes to pass that every year a flood of 
really worthless publications is poured over 
the country. People go into ecstasies over 
trivial works which please or excite them a 
day and are then old and forgotten, while 
books every way admirable are passed by 
unnoticed. 

Young people should read tried and proved 
books. Many who have not the courage to 
confess ignorance of the last novel regard it 
as no shame to be utterly ignorant of the 
classics. It is quite safe to say that not one 
person in a hundred now reads Milton's Para- 
dise Lost, and that not one in a thousand has 
[244] 



2toofes Wovfy Wtylt 



ever read a translation of Homer's Iliad. 
With all our glorifying of Shakespeare, how 
many really read even his great masterpieces ? 
The Pilgrim's Progress is known to the 
masses of the people only from being referred 
to so often. Very few read it. We should 
get courage to remain ignorant rather of the 
mass of ephemeral books than to miss read- 
ing the great masters in poetry, science, his- 
tory, religion, and fiction. 

No book is really worth reading which does 
not either impart valuable knowledge or set 
before us some ideal of beauty, strength, or 
nobility of character. The ancients were ac- 
customed to place the statues of their dis- 
tinguished ancestors about their homes, that 
their children, by continually seeing them, 
might be stimulated to emulate their noble 
qualities. Noble lives embalmed in printed 
volumes have a wondrous power to kindle the 
hearts of the young, for, as a writer says, 
"A good book holds as in a vial the purest 
efficacy and instruction of the living intellect 
that bred it." There are great books enough 
[245 ] 



Cfjmg* tfmt <£irtmre 



to occupy us during all our short and busy 
years. If we are wise, we will resolutely avoid 
all but the richest and the best. 

"We need to be reminded every day," 
writes one, "how many are the books of un- 
approachable glory, which, with all our 
eagerness after reading, we have never taken 
in our hand. It will astonish most of us to 
find how much of our industry is given to the 
books which leave no mark — how we rake in 
the litter of the printing press, while a crown 
of gold and rubies is offered us in vain." 



[246] 



& Calk about temper 




CHAPTER XXX 

M Calk about Cemper 

OU are a Christian. You have con- 
fessed Christ before the world. 
You say Christ is the dearest 
Friend you have. You say he is 
the noblest in his character, the fairest in his 
beauty, the sweetest in his spirit, the gentlest 
in his disposition, the richest in his beauty, 
of all things in the universe. But the 
people about you, the world's people, those 
who do not know him, have no thought of his 
beauty. They have not seen him as you 
have. And you want them to see him as 
he appears to you, for you want them to love 
him and trust him and follow him. Now have 
you thought that about the only way you can 
show others the beauty of your friend Jesus 
Christ is in your own life? When astrono- 
mers want to let you look at some wonderful 
star through a great telescope, they have you 
put your eye to an aperture where you see 
[249] 



Cijingsf tfjat O&tbure 



the star in a mirror, brought down close to 
you. People cannot see Jesus, up in his 
glory; but you are a little mirror in which 
his beauty is reflected. He shines in your 
heart, and then your neighbors look at you 
and see his image in you, as the astronomer 
sees the image of the star in his reflecting 
glass. 

Surely bad-tempered Christians do not 
think how repulsive their bad temper appears 
in the eyes of others, or they would spare no 
pains to cure themselves of the fault which 
so mars their character. Cannot some one in- 
vent a looking-glass in which men and women 
can look at their souls, so as to learn what 
beings they make of themselves when they al- 
low their old evil nature to show itself in fits 
of anger, irritability, quarrelsomeness, sulki- 
ness and other moods of unamiability ? 

Surely if we love Christ truly we will not 
allow ourselves to continue to do him dishonor 
in life so unworthy of his dear name. We 
ought to dread giving any false representa- 
tion of our Lord, and to strive in all our life 
[ 250] 



9 Calk about Cemper 

to show his gentle love. Whatever we may 
do for Christ, in gifts to his cause or work 
in his service, if we fail to live out his life 
of sweet patience and forbearance, we fail in 
an essential part of our duty as Christians. 

Now we come to the most important mat- 
ter. How can we cure our bad tempers ? Or 
can they be cured at all? Bad temper is 
not to be regarded as a mere unfortunate in- 
firmity, over which we may weep bitter tears 
of sorrow, but which we cannot help. It must 
be regarded in its true light, as a grievous 
sin, part of the old bad nature, which is 
not to be condoned nor allowed to stay in 
the new life, but which must be cast out. 
It is just as essential in a Christian life that 
one become amiable and sweet-tempered, as 
that one become truthful, honest, pure, just. 
If a man who has been in the habit of lying, 
is converted and becomes a Christian, you ex- 
pect him to put away lying and speak truth. 
If he has been dishonest, you expect him to 
become honest. So if he has been bad-tem- 
pered he ought to be expected to become 
[251] 



<Cfnng$ tfmt Cntiure 



good-tempered. Here is what St. Paul says 
about it : "Put ye also away all these : anger, 
wrath, malice, railing, shameful speaking out 
of your mouth. . . . Put on . . . as 
God's elect, holy and beloved, a heart of com- 
passion, kindness, lowliness, meekness, long- 
suffering; forbearing one another, and for- 
giving one another, if any man have a com- 
plaint against any ; even as the Lord forgave 
you, so also do ye." Bad temper is just as 
unchristian as lying or stealing and we are 
to strive just as earnestly to get rid of it. 
No doubt the lesson of good temper is a 
hard one to learn, one that cannot be learned 
in a day ; nevertheless it is one that we must 
set ourselves to learn at whatever cost, 
if we would be worthy disciples of our Lord, 
worthy children of our Father. It is a lesson, 
too, that can be learned. Mr. Ruskin says: 
"Many mighty harmonies have been dis- 
coursed by instruments that have been dumb 
or discordant, but that God knew their 
stops." This is very true. There are many 
human lives that are like instruments with 
[252] 



M Calk about temper 

jangled strings and most discordant keys. 
None but God could ever have made any 
music at all on them. But he has taken them 
in hand, has repaired the broken strings and 
put the keys in tune, and then sweet music 
has breathed from them. 

There are some who say, "I never can live 
a truly sweet and gentle life. My temper is 
quick and my tongue is sharp, and I cannot 
control either my temper or my tongue. I 
want to be always kindly and loving — but I 
cannot." True, so far as you yourself are 
concerned, but God can take the poor jangled 
chords and put them all in tune. You re- 
member that sweet word in the Psalm — "He 
restoreth my soul." You know what "re- 
store" means ; it is taking the broken instru- 
ment, all out of tune, giving out only harsh 
discords when any fingers touch the keys, 
and putting it in perfect repair, so that it 
yields the sweet music it was first made to 
yield. "He restoreth my soul." That is, 
the worst tempered people may be made gen- 
tle and loving in all speech, act and disposi- 
[ 253] 



<Cfnnga tijat Cnbure 



tion, by the renewing and transforming power 
of divine grace. God can take the jangled 
keys and put them in tune, if we will but put 
them into his hand. 

But we have something to do ourselves in 
this work. God does not take out the old na- 
ture and put in a new one, as a watchmaker 
might replace the worn-out works in your 
watch with new works. He works in us and 
through us. He shows us the pattern that 
he wants us to reach. Then he puts into our 
hearts the desire to be like the pattern. Then 
as we strive to become like it, he helps us. But 
we must strive ourselves to be sweet-tempered. 
We must watch the rising anger and choke 
it back. We must keep down the ugly dis- 
positions. We must learn to control ourselves, 
our tempers, our feelings, our passions, our 
tongues. We must seek to develop the gentle 
things and crowd out the nettles. 

You have a little garden spot beside your 

house. The natural growths for that patch 

of soil in the spring days are weeds. Just 

let it alone and it will soon be filled with rank 

[254] 



& Calk about Cemper 

noxious weeds. But unless you are a very in- 
dolent gardener you will not let it alone. You 
will dig out the weeds and by the summer days 
you will have your little garden filled with 
lovely flowers. Your heart is a patch of gar- 
den-soil. Naturally there grow in it weeds, 
nettles, briers, thorns. But do you intend to 
let it yield nothing better than these noxious 
growths ? I hope not. It is your business to 
cultivate that bit of garden, to dig out the 
weeds and nettles and briers, and to have 
sweet flowers blooming there. Do not blame 
your religion for your ugly tempers; your 
religion will do its part if you will do yours. 
But religion is not intended to save us from 
effort, from striving, from struggle. Religion 
binds us to God and insures us God's help; 
but we must help too. We must fight against 
the ugly tempers ; we must put on the beau- 
tiful gentleness, patience, meekness, and kind- 
ness of Christ's own life. We must very 
earnestly try to be Christlike. 

Let us not forget that we have but such a 
little time to be together, and that the things 
[255 ] 



Cfnng* tfmt o&ttmre 



in others that vex and try us so will seem 
very small when we stand by the coffins of our 
friends. Surely, too, the memory of our surly 
tempers and our irritable feelings and our 
sharp words will give us added pain when all 
we have left of our dear ones shall be their 
cold clay or their new-made graves. Let us 
be earnest, friends, in our effort to put off our 
bad tempers and be like our Master. 



I 256] 



die Bobantage of Cteepmg <®ne'$ 
temper 




CHAPTER XXXI 

Cfje Hbbantage of toping 0£ne'* 
Cemper 

|OME people will scarcely admit 
that bad temper is sinful. They 
call it an infirmity, and apologize 
for it or seek to excuse it on the 
ground that they cannot help it. This, how- 
ever, is a too self-indulgent view. Bad tem- 
per is sinful. It is an infirmity which even 
charity is not a wide enough cloak to cover. 
Or if we do have patience with it in others 
we have no right to condone it in ourselves. 
It is a miserable fault and one to which we 
should never consent to give hospitality. It 
grieves God. It hurts our friends. It is one 
of the unseemly things which St. Paul tells us 
love does not do; one of the childish things 
which we ought to put away when we become 
men. 

It may be well to look at bad temper from 
its practical side. There are advantages in 
[259] 



Cfrmg* tfmt tribute 



good temper which should commend it to 
every one who desires to get the best out of 
life. 

For example, there is one's standing among 
one's fellows. We all like to have others think 
that we are at least fairly good. One has 
reached a rather low depth of degeneracy 
when he really cares no longer what people 
think of his character. There are many who 
have not the fear of God before their eyes 
who are dominated in their conduct, at least 
in external ways, by the fear of men. It cer- 
tainly is an advantage to have people think 
one sweet-tempered, and in order to have such 
a reputation, where one is intimately known, 
one must have at least fair measure of control 
of one's feelings and words. Good temper is 
a quality which cannot well be simulated. One 
cannot always time the outbursts of an un- 
governed spirit so that nobody will know of 
them. It would seem, therefore, to be worth 
while to acquire self-mastery and to discipline 
one's self into reasonably good temper, if for 
nothing else, in order that one may be well 
[260] 



Cteepmg 0ne's Cemper 

spoken of among one's fellows and daily as- 
sociates. 

Another advantage of keeping good temper 
is in the comfort it gives to one's self. We are 
always ashamed of ourselves when we have 
given way to anger and have spoken or acted 
in an unseemly fashion. A bit of bad tem- 
per in the morning spoils the whole day for 
us. We do not feel like looking any one in the 
face for hours afterward. It leaves a sort of 
moral or spiritual malaria in our blood which 
casts a miserable hue over all fair and lovely 
things. We can scarcely even pray after a fit 
of bad temper, certainly not till we have 
passed through a season of penitence and 
have wooed back again the grieved Spirit of 
God and the sweet peace which this holy 
Guest alone can restore. 

Certainly the cost of uncontrolled temper is 
too great to be indulged in by any one who 
loves happiness. It brings too much self- 
reproach. It darkens too many hours. It 
takes too much out of life. It is well worth 
while to learn to control one's spirit if only 
[261] 



^fjings; tfwt ofrtbitre 



for the sake of the peace it keeps in one's 
heart. 

Good temper also plays a very important 
part in friendship. A bad-tempered man can- 
not make close friends, neither can he keep 
the friends he has made. Love is very patient. 
It beareth all things. It covereth a multitude 
of sins. But even love cannot grow to its 
sweetest and best if it is subjected continually 
to violent outbursts of anger and to harsh- 
ness and bitterness of speech. Not many peo- 
ple care to expose themselves to such humiliat- 
ing experiences for the sake of continuing a 
friendship. The home loved ones are almost 
the only ones whose friendship is equal to 
such sore testing. 

If a man is to have friends with whom he 
can enter into close and familiar relations and 
whose friendship he can hold securely through 
the years, he must be friendly himself; he 
must at least refrain from words and acts and 
moods which would pain the hearts of those 
whose love he would cherish. We must be pre- 
pared to give as we would receive. Only 
[ 262 ] 



Itteepmg <®nt f * Cemper 

gentleness will draw out gentleness. Only 
thoughtfulness and honor will win thought- 
fulness and honor in return. No man can 
know much of the sacredness of friendship who 
has not achieved such self-mastery as will en- 
able him always to be sweet-tempered and 
kindly in act and speech. 

Good temper is an essential quality in all 
true manliness. No doubt there are those 
who think that to be a man one must be ready 
to strike back at every offense, to resent every 
insult, to resist every wrong, to stand up for 
one's rights at whatever cost. But is that 
Christian manliness? Jesus said, "Blessed are 
the meek." He himself illustrated his own 
beatitude. "When he was reviled, (he) re- 
viled not again; when he suffered, (he) 
threatened not." He never lost his temper. 
Christlike manhood is not the world's type, 
but it pleases heaven. The thirteenth chapter 
of First Corinthians certainly sets a copy 
which it is not easy to follow, but when one 
has mastered it one is living the noblest life 
possible in this world. 

[263] 



Cfjmga tfjat Cnbure 



Is it not worth while to strive to attain 
"whatsoever things are lovely" in manly 
spirit and character? It may not be easy to 
do it. It may be easier to let our natural 
feelings have sway, but we should be willing 
to deny ourselves the indulgence of temper in 
order to grow into noble strength of char- 
acter. 

These are suggestions of the advantages of 
gaining self-control. We have the highest 
authority for saying that he who ruleth his 
own spirit is greater than he who taketh a 
city. The victory is not an impossible one. 
With the help of Christ we may win it, and in 
winning it take our place in the ranks of the 
noble and worthy. 



[264] 



die 03race of 2^euts <®bligmg 




CHAPTER XXXII 

Cfje <$race of 2freutg Obliging 

HERE is a great difference in peo- 
ple in the matter of obligingness. 
Some are always ready to do a 
good turn, to be of service, to be 
accommodating. Others are always wanting 
in this grace. They never show a disposition 
to confer a favor, to do a kindness, to go out 
of their way in the slightest degree to be 
helpful to any one. 

Obligingness is a Christian grace. It is one 
of the manifestations of love. It belongs, 
therefore, among the essential qualities of a 
beautiful life. Perhaps one may be a Chris- 
tian and be disobliging, just as one may be 
disagreeable or discontented or fretful or un- 
gentle, and yet be a Christian. We may not 
say at how many points one may be wanting 
in beauty of character and yet be a Chris- 
tian. Christ sets a very high standard for 
his followers, but he is very patient with be- 
[ 267 ] " 



Cfjmg* tfjat Cnbure 



ginners, in the stumbling of their early steps. 
A disciple is a pupil, and a pupil may enter 
school at the lowest grade. They are pupils 
when they first enter, though it may be years 
before they have completed their course. 

Hence one may lack altogether the quality 
of obligingness when one begins the Chris- 
tian life, but this is one of the lessons that 
must be taken up at once, one of the graces 
in which we must grow from the first. Love 
cannot be disobliging. Love is kind. Love 
seeketh not its own. The very central quality 
in love is the desire to serve. If we have 
the love of Christ in our heart we will wish 
to be helpful to every human being we meet 
or see — this will be our attitude toward all. 
This feeling will lead us to accept every 
opportunity to be useful, not only in cases 
of great need, when large service may be re- 
quired, but also when only some simple, com- 
mon kindness is called for. 

The training of one's self in obligingness 
is, therefore, an important part of Christian 
culture. It is easy to allow selfishness to hold 
[268] 



^fje O^race of 2fremg Obliging 

back the hand from kindness. "Every man 
for himself" is one of the world's maxims, 
and it is easy to become so absorbed in think- 
ing of one's self and one's own affairs, that 
the heart shall grow cold toward all others. 

But selfishness is always most unlovely and 
most un-Christlike. The only beautiful life 
is one that love inspires and controls. The 
Christian rule is, "Not looking each of you 
to his own things, but each of you also to the 
things of others." This does not mean that 
we shall meddle in other people's affairs. 
There is another spiritual injunction which 
puts the meddler in other men's matters in 
the same black list with the murderer, the 
thief, and the evil-doer. One of the last 
things a Christian should consent to be is 
a busybody. The way Christians are to look 
at the things of others is in interest, sym- 
pathy, and helpfulness, ready always to lend 
a hand, to do anything in their power to 
lighten a burden or help along. 

Obligingness is a good word. When we 
say that a man is of an obliging disposition, 
[269] 



Cfnns* tfmt Ofrtimre 



we mean that he is always ready to do what 
he can to assist others. If we are in some 
trouble, he comes with his kindly help. If 
we are carrying a heavy load, he offers to 
share it. If we need assistance, in any way, 
he is eager to give it. 

There is a great deal of this obliging spirit 
among the poor. The rich are more inde- 
pendent of each other, for they have in them- 
selves nearly all they need, so that there is 
not the same necessity for mutual help that 
there is among the poor. Consequently, even 
when the relations are entirely friendly, there 
is less opportunity among the wealthy for 
rendering helpful services. But the poor, 
having fewer resources of their own, need 
more the kindly aid of each other, and the 
need draws out the practical ministry. In 
many instances, the relations between neigh- 
bors among the poor are very beautiful in- 
deed. They share with each other what they 
have of conveniences and comforts. When 
there is sickness in a home all the families 
near by make the troubles their own. The 
[270] 



Cfje O^rate of 2freing Obliging 

women help each other in nursing. When 
there is sorrow, the whole little community 
sympathizes not in a sentimental way, merely, 
but in most practical ways. If disaster comes 
to one household, all the others contribute 
their part in seeking to repair the loss. 

We all have it in our power to do a great 
deal for the comfort of others simply by 
striving always to be obliging. It usually 
does not require much self-denial nor involve 
the giving of large gifts — what is wanted is 
only the warmth of heart that will make us 
quick to see needs and ways of helping, and 
then the readiness to do the little services, to 
show the common kindnesses. It may be to 
give a classmate a start with his lessons when 
he cannot quite master them himself, or to 
lend a boy or girl the book you have greatly 
enjoyed, or to help a friend with his work 
when you have leisure and he is a little be- 
hind. 

The ways of being obliging are number- 
less. If only we have the spirit and are ready 
to put ourselves out a little or to give up some 
[271] 



Clung* tfmt Cnbure 



comfort or ease to help another, we shall 
find plenty of opportunities. The lesson is 
worth learning, too. It makes us far more 
useful. An obliging person brightens the way 
for many others. He makes life easier for 
every one he meets. It is a great thing to 
have a genius for helping others. When we 
begin to get this beautiful grace into our 
life we have begun to be like the Master. 



[272] 



l©fcat to Po tmtfj <®ur H&mep 




CHAPTER XXXIII 

Wfyat to J£o tottf) 0ur jfl&onep 

BUR money may destroy us. The 
love of money is the root of all 
evil. There is a way of using 

23 money which makes it a curse. 
But there is a way of using money which 
makes it a blessing. Christ told of this when 
he said, "Make for yourselves purses which 
wax not old, a treasure in the heavens that 
faileth not, where no thief draweth near, 
neither moth destroyeth." That is, there is a 
way of using our money by which we shall 
lay it up in heaven. This is a wonderful 
revelation — that we can take our riches with 
us into the other world; or rather, that we 
can bank our possessions in heaven, as we 
go through this world, send our money on 
in advance, so that when we reach there we 
shall find all our treasures laid up waiting 
for us. 

In one of our Lord's parables — that of 
[275] 



Cfjmgg tfjat Ofrtirore 



the rich man and Lazarus — we are told of a 
man who had not learned the secret.. On 
earth the rich man lived in luxury and splen- 
dor. He was dressed in purple and fine linen. 
He fared sumptuously every day. That was 
one scene. But the rich man died. Wealth 
cannot bribe death. No palace walls can 
shut out the messenger whom, God sends for 
a man's soul. The rich man died and was 
buried. But that was not the end. The 
veil is lifted, and we see him in the other 
world — rich? Oh, no; in torments. He is 
beggared now. He has no sumptuous ban- 
quets. He wears no fine linen. He has no 
honor. We hear him craving Abraham to 
send Lazarus — who once lay, a beggar, un- 
helped, at his gates — that he might dip the 
tip of his finger in water and cool his tongue, 
to ease his torment. This man had missed 
the secret of laying up treasure in heaven. 
He has treasured up only sorrow for himself. 
This man teaches us how not to use our 
money on the earth. He lived only for him- 
self, to accumulate and to spend in enjoy- 
[276] 



U^fjat to 2£o toitf) 0ur ffitonep 

ments and luxuries for his own selfish grati- 
fication. 

I fear there are too many men in these 
prosperous days who are making the same 
mistake that Dives made. We are not told 
that he got his money dishonestly. There 
was no taint of fraud or embezzlement on 
it. So far as we knew, it was not amassed 
through oppression of the poor, through rob- 
bing of laborers. The man's sin lay in the 
use he made of his money. 

And it was not used in wicked schemes of 
any kind. Dives was a highly respected gen- 
tleman, a prosperous citizen. He spent money 
freely among, the merchants and the trades- 
people. He was popular in the city. He 
was probably a good Pharisee, orthodox and 
religious. There was no taint on his charac- 
ter. He was honorable in his business and 
just in all his dealings with his fellow-men. 

What was wrong with Dives? Why is he 

shown to us in torment beyond the gate of 

death? So far as we know it was all because 

he did not use his money in the right way. 

[277] 



Cfnttg* tfmt <£ntmre 



That is, he used it only for himself. He did 
not use it for God. He did not use it to bless 
his fellow-men. He used it only for his own 
gratification. He spent it for luxuries in 
dress and for luxuries on his table. The 
beggar lay by his gate unfed, unhelped. Hu- 
man misery surged by his doors without re- 
ceiving any pity. Are there not many men 
in every community who are living just as 
Dives did? Honest, honorable, respected, with 
no taint on their business, but living only for 
themselves — what sequel to their earthly life 
can they hope for, different from that of 
Dives? It is not enough that money be 
gotten honestly; after it has been obtained 
in the most righteous way it may be so used 
as to destroy the soul of its possessor. Nor 
is it only dishonest or wicked using of it that 
brings down a curse. It is enough that it 
is spent only for self and for selfish gratifica- 
tion. 

It is a serious thing to have money — even 
a little of it. It brings weighty responsibility 
to him who has it. It is a talent entrusted 
[278] 



Wfat to j£o tottf) 0ur Mont? 

to us by God, and like all other talents, it 
must be used and then accounted for. 

Then the practical question for us is, "How 
shall we use Christ's trust- f unds ?" How 
would he use the money himself, if he were 
in our place, and were to spend it? Part of 
it he would use in providing for his own 
wants. He would have us receive food and 
raiment. Nor does he condemn business 
energy. Money-making is not sinful. There 
is no sin in growing rich, provided a man 
does it as Christ's trustee and for Christ. 
Only he must keep his own name off it. He 
must not say "my fruits ," "my store," "my 
bonds," "my gains." We must learn to leave 
the "I" out of our speech. We must learn 
the lesson of self-effacement. We must do 
all for Christ. We are only trustees for 
Christ. 

It is when we have learned to handle our 
money as a trustee for Christ that we have 
gained the secret of laying up treasure in 
heaven. All that we truly use for Christ we 
lay up in purses that will not wax old. The 
[279] 



Cfjmg* tgjat Cttimre 



only safety when one is always getting is also 
to be always giving. Giving is living. The 
pool that has no outlet stagnates and breeds 
death. The stream that ever flows lives and 
keeps pure and sweet. Giving is living; 
hoarding is dying. 

In India they tell the story of the golden 
palace. Sultan Ahmed was a great king. He 
sent Yakoob, the most skilful of his builders, 
with large sums of money, to erect in the 
mountains of snow the most splendid palace 
ever seen. Yakoob went to the place, and 
found a great famine among the people, and 
many of them dying. He took all his own 
money, and the money given him by the king 
for the building of the palace, and gave it to 
feed the starving people. 

Ahmed came at length to see his palace, but 
he saw none. He sent for Yakoob and learned 
his story, but was very angry and cast him 
into prison. "To-morrow thou shalt die," he 
said, "for thou hast robbed the king." But 
that night Ahmed had a dream. There came 
to him one who said : "Follow me." Up from 
[280] 



t©Uat to j£o toitf) 0ur ffitoMV 

the earth they soared, until they were at 
heaven's gate. They entered, and lo! there 
stood a palace of pure gold, more brilliant 
than the sun, and vaster far than any palace 
of earth. 

"What palace is this?" asked Ahmed, and 
his guide answered, "This is the palace of 
merciful deeds, built for thee, by Yakoob the 
wise. Its glory shall endure when all earth's 
things have passed away." Then the king 
understood that Yakoob had done most wisely 
with his money. 

The story has its lesson of truth. The 
money spent in doing Christ's work in this 
world is laid up in heaven. It may seem 
to be thrown away, but while it piles up no 
temple, no monument, on the earth, it builds 
its palace beyond the skies. 



[281] 



WW to J£o tottt) Our Hf ante 




CHAPTER XXXIV 

Wf>at to JDo tottfj <®ttr Mantis; 

N the lives of most young people 
there is a period when they have 
great trouble in knowing what to 
do with their hands. Indeed there 
are a great many people who never learn what 
to do with their hands. They may overcome 
their awkwardness and grow out of their self- 
consciousness ; but they never realize the pos- 
sibilities that are folded up in their hands. 

Man is the only animal that has hands. 
Hence the hand is one of the marks of man's 
superiority. With his hands he conquers na- 
ture, and does the things which distinguish 
him among God's creatures. With his hands 
he cultivates the soil, fells the trees, tunnels 
the mountains, builds cities, constructs ma- 
chines, belts the globe with iron rails, navi- 
gates the sea, and turns the wheel of in- 
dustry. It is the hand, too, which gives form 
and reality to the dreams and visions of the 
[285] 



<&f)tng* tfjat Cnfcmre 



brain and soul. With his hand the thinker 
puts his thoughts into written words to be- 
come a power in the world. With his hand 
the poet weaves into graceful lines the in- 
spirations of his muse. With his hand the 
musician interprets on his instrument the 
marvellous harmonies which move and stir 
men's hearts to their depths. With his hand 
the artist puts on his canvas the wonderful 
creations of his genius which immortalize his 
name and become part of the world's heritage 
of beauty. 

The story of a hand is the whole story of a 
life. Hawthorne, when he saw the marble 
image of an infant's hand, said that it ought 
to be kept until the infant had grown to 
womanhood and then to old age; until her 
hand had felt the pressure of affection and 
returned it; until it had worn the wedding 
ring; until it had nursed babies and buried 
them; until it had gathered the flowers of 
earth's pleasure and been pierced by the 
thorns; until it had wrought its part in the 
world's work; until it had grown old, wrin- 
[286] 



Wi)at to Bo toitf) «£ur Cfante 

kled, and faded, and had been folded on the 
bosom in death's repose; and that then an- 
other cast of it in marble ought to be made, 
when the two hands, lying side by side, would 
tell the story of the life. 

It is interesting to look at a baby's hand 
and try to read its prophecy. Perhaps sleep- 
ing in the little fingers there is music which 
some day may thrill men's souls ; or pictures 
which by and by will be made to live on the 
canvas, or poems whose lines will sometimes 
breathe inspirations for many lives. At least, 
there must be folded up in the baby's chubby 
fingers possibilities of countless beautiful 
things which should take form as the hands 
learn to do their allotted task work. 

Our hands have to be trained. The skill 
that sleeps in them must be brought out by 
education and practice. No doubt God has 
put into many fingers music which never has 
been drawn out, pictures which never have 
been painted upon canvas, beauty which 
never has charmed men's eyes, and noble deeds 
which never have been wrought into acts. It 
[287] 



Cfnng* tfjat Cnbure 



is our part to find the possibilities in our 
hands and develop them. 

We should train our hands to do all their 
work carefully and thoroughly. Even the 
smallest things, though they seem insignifi- 
cant, we should do as well as we can. Thus 
God works. The most minute animalculae, 
millions of which are said to swim in a drop 
of water, are as perfect in all their functions 
as are the largest of the creatures. We do 
not know what is small and what is great in 
this world. Little things may be seeds of 
future great things. We should train our 
hands, therefore, to do all their work fault- 
lessly. It is a shame to do anything in a 
slovenly way, even to work negligently, to 
slight what we are set to do, to hurry through 
our tasks, marring the workmanship that we 
ought to fashion just as carefully, though 
it be but the writing of a postal card, the 
dusting of a room, or the building of a coal- 
shed, as if it were the painting of a great 
picture, the furnishing of a palace, or the 
building of a cathedral. 

[288] 



*$fjat to J£o totnj 4£ur ^anb* 

"Though thou have time 
For but a line, be that sublime, — 
Not failure, but low aim, is crime." 

Our hands should also be ready always for 
their tasks. For a time the child does not 
find anything to do but to play. Soon, how- 
ever, it begins to discover duties. Youth is 
full of bright dreams. We are apt to think 
of life at first as only pleasure. But soon we 
learn its more serious aspect, and find that 
every moment has its task. It has burdens 
to carry, crosses to bear, trials to endure, and 
our hands should never fail to do their part. 

"Life is a burden: bear it; 

Life is a duty: do it; 

Life is a thorn-crown : wear it. 
Though it break your heart in twain, 

Though the burden crush you down, 
Close your lips and hide your pain: 

First the cross, and then the crown." 

Some people go through life and keep their 
hands white, unroughened, unworn, but at the 
end they may find that they have failed alto- 
gether in the true object of living. When an 
army comes home from victorious war, it is 
[289] 



Cfringg tfmt Cnbure 



not the regiment with the full ranks of un- 
scarred men that the people cheer most loudly, 
but the regiment with only a remnant of sol- 
diers and these bearing the marks of many a 
battle. Hands scarred in conflicts with life's 
enemies are more beautiful when held up be- 
fore God, than hands white and soft, covered 
with flashing jewels. 



[290] 



«£ome Stobtrect ffiap* of Uj>mg 




CHAPTER XXXV 

<£ome 31nturect Wa$& of Uptng 

HERE are many forms of un- 
truthfulness. One may He by a 
tone of voice, or by an em- 
phasis, so playing with the words 
he uses as to make them give an impression 
altogether different from that which the same 
words would give if written or printed. It 
is said that figures do not lie, but figures 
are ofttimes so arranged that they do lie 
egregiously. Some one has been attempting 
a sort of classification and says that there 
are three kinds of lies — white lies, black lies, 
and statistics. 

The essence of a lie is in the intention 
which the person wishes others to take from 
what he says or does. He may juggle with 
words as he pleases and claim that he is per- 
fectly truthful; but if he has intentionally 
left a wrong impression upon those to whom 
he has been speaking, he has lied. 
[293] 



<$:f)mga tfjat Ofrtirore 



One too common form of lying is exaggera- 
tion. The narrator tells the truth, but tells 
more than the truth. He clothes his common- 
place statements in such elaborate drapery 
that they are scarcely recognizable. Plain 
prose becomes fascinating poetry as it flows 
from his unctuous lips. It is perilous for peo- 
ple with more imagination than conscience^ 
to allow themselves even the smallest license^ 
in the way of exaggeration. Men have been 
known to become such slaves to the power of 
exaggeration, that they could not relate the 
simplest fact truthfully. If something has 
happened twice they will report it as having 
happened ten times. If three men were hurt 
in an accident, the three will become a dozen 
when these exaggerators tell it. They always 
use superlative adjectives. 

A special phase of exaggeration is that in 
which things are colored by the self-conceit 
of the narrator. He sees everything as re- 
lated to himself and as affected by his opinion 
of his own importance. The result is that all 
the attainments and achievements of others 
[294] 



g>omt anfctrect Wav* of Hping 

are seen by him through diminishing lenses, 
while all that he himself does is looked at 
through magnifying glasses. 

The vagaries of self-conceit in this direc- 
tion are almost incredible. The writer knew a 
young man who seemed honestly to think 
that he immeasurably surpassed all other men 
in knowledge, in wisdom, in experience, in 
genius. He talked glibly of the greatest men, 
and was ready, without a suggestion of hu- 
mility, to criticize and disparage them. Judg- 
ing from his freedom in speaking of men, and 
their abilities, there was not a position any- 
where in the land which he could not have 
filled far better than it was filled by its pres- 
ent incumbent. 

Another peculiarity of this man's self-con- 
ceit was that he would always surpass, out of 
the depository of his own vast personal ex- 
perience, any feat or achievement that any 
other person might recount. If you would 
tell him of being once in Bombay, and begin 
to mention some persons or some things you 
saw there, he would listen a little while and 
[295] 



Cfnng* tfmt <£nbure 



would then tell you of his visit to Bombay 
and the peculiar opportunities he had of see- 
ing remarkable things there, through his inti- 
macy with some notable man, some one con- 
nected with the Government. If you referred 
to a visit to Egypt, he would let you tell 
your story and then would begin to talk of 
his winter spent in Cairo, when he was guest 
of some prominent citizen, and when he was 
permitted to see many things which ordinary 
tourists were never allowed to see. If you 
told of seeing Mr. Gladstone in the House of 
Commons, he would supplement your opinion 
and information by giving an account of the 
visit he once made to the home of the great 
Premier, when he was cordially welcomed to 
the hospitality of the family, and was induced 
to spend several days at Hawarden. The 
only basis for either of these distinguished 
achievements was a luxuriant fancy, inspired 
by conscienceless self-conceit, since the young 
man had never even crossed the ocean, and of 
course had never in his life seen either Bom- 
bay, Cairo, or Hawarden. 
[296] 



<£ome 31nbtrect V®ap& of Hping 

The same tendency led this young man so 
to misrepresent what others said to him as 
really to misrepresent them and practically 
falsify their words. Especially was this the 
case when the conversation had reference to 
some other matter in which he himself was 
concerned. For example, he called one day on 
a prominent gentleman and sought an inter- 
view, when he laid before him a scheme in 
which he very much desired this gentleman's 
aid. At least he hoped for a strong endorse- 
ment and for practical encouragement. He 
reported to his friends that he had been most 
cordially received, that this busy man had 
given him nearly two hours of his valuable 
time in the middle of a morning, that he had 
listened to him interestedly, asking him many 
questions concerning the enterprise, that 
he showed remarkable familiarity with the 
scheme, regarding it as wise and hopeful, and 
that he was ready to identify himself with it, 
backing it up, no doubt — although he had not 
actually subscribed, — by a Urge amount of 
money. When this gentleman was told what 
[297] 



Cfnngs! tfjat OEnfcrore 



his interviewer was reporting, he replied that 
the story was absolutely false. He remem- 
bered receiving the young man's card one 
morning and admitting him to his office, where 
he listened for fifteen minutes to what he had 
to say. Then his only reply was, as he ended 
the conversation, that he would think the mat- 
ter over. 

Just what the psychological processes in 
the young man's mind were it is difficult to 
say. The charitable view is that he thought 
he had made a profound impression upon the 
gentleman's mind, and that he really believed 
that the statements he had made regarding 
his attention and readiness to join in the en- 
terprise were true. It is scarcely to be sup- 
posed that he deliberately lied. His self- 
conceit had played a trick on his own con- 
science. 



[ 298 ] 



putting atoap Cfrilbtef) Cfjutgs 




CHAPTER XXXVI 

Putting atuap Cfnlbfef) Cfringg 

I HERE is a wide difference be- 
tween childlikeness and childish- 
ness. Childlikeness is commended 
as very beautiful in life and dis- 
position. The Master exhorted his disciples 
to become as little children, and said that until 
they would do so, they could not enter the 
kingdom of heaven. The finest things in char- 
acter are childlike things, — humility, sim- 
plicity, trustfulness, the absence of scheming 
and ambition, guilelessness. 

But childishness is something altogether 
different. It is something to get as far as 
possible away from, and not something to cul- 
tivate. It is one of the things we are to put 
off and leave behind as we grow into the 
strength and beauty of mature manhood. In- 
stead of being noble, the mark of rank and 
greatness in spiritual life, it is the sign of 
weakness, of puerility. 

[ 301 ] 



^fnngs tijat <£ntmre 



Childishness in a child may be endured. 
"He is only a child," we say of one of infant 
years, in apology for actions and ways which 
are not beautiful. But when these childish 
things appear in one who has come to man- 
hood in years, we find no excuse for them. 
When we are children, we speak as children, 
we feel as children, we act as children, but 
when we become men we should put away 
childish things. 

Yet there are too many people who keep 
their childish ways after they are grown up. 
For example, pouting is not uncommon in 
quite young children. Something disappoints 
them, and they turn away in sullen mood, 
thrusting out their lips and refusing to speak 
to any one or to take part in what their com- 
panions are doing. It is no wonder the other 
children in a party jeer such puerile behavior 
in one of their number, crying at them, 
"Pouty !" "Baby calf!" "Cry baby!" or other 
taunting epithets. The lesson of good- 
naturedly bearing slights, hurts, or defeats, 
usually has to be learned by experience, and 
[ 302 ] 



Putting atoap Cfjtlbtel) CfungS 

the lesson is long; it need not be wondered at, 
therefore, if very young children are some- 
times slow in mastering their sensitiveness in 
this regard. 

But every now and then — and not so rarely, 
either — we find full-grown people who have 
not got beyond the pouting phase. They 
are very genial and happy in their relations 
with others while nothing occurs to impinge 
upon their self-esteem. But the moment any 
one seems to slight them, or when one appears 
to treat them unkindly, or when some scheme 
or proposal of theirs is set aside, instantly 
go out the lips in a childish pout, down come 
the brows in a bad-tempered frown, and the 
offended person goes off in a fit of babyish 
sulks. 

This spectacle is not uncommon among 
young people in their relations with each 
other. There are some who demand absolute 
and exclusive monopoly in their friendships. 
They are ardent in their devotion to the 
young person on whom they fasten their 
affection, but that person must become wholly 
[303] 



'Clung* tfmt Cttfcmre 



theirs, scarcely treating any other one re- 
spectfully, certainly showing no cordiality 
toward any one. If the object of their attach- 
ment fails to be thus "loyal," the doting 
friend pouts and sulks and whimpers, "You 
don't care for me any more." All envies and 
jealousies belong in the same class of childish 
things, which are not only unlovely, but are 
also utterly unchristian. 

Not infrequently is this childish spirit 
manifested in societies and associations, where 
members are chosen to official places or ap- 
pointed on committees, or shown other honors. 
There are apt always to be some among the 
number who keep in the best kind of mood 
when they are filling any position of honor or 
authority, but who cannot come down grace- 
fully from the official rostrum. The descent 
from any elevated position to the level of com- 
mon membership is too much for their stock of 
magnanimity. They act as if they felt that 
they should be continued in office indefinitely, 
and when some other one is chosen in turn to 
wear the honor which they have worn for a 
[304] 



Putting atoap Cfnttrisif) Cfringg 

term, they take it as a personal matter and 
feel aggrieved. Sometimes they display their 
hurt feelings publicly; sometimes they say 
nothing, but go about afterward with a mar- 
tyrlike air, as if they were patiently enduring 
a wrong or injury. In either case, they prob- 
ably do not take an active part thereafter in 
the work of the organization, pouting, some- 
times, the rest of their days. 

These are only illustrations of a most un- 
happy spirit that is much too common in the 
world. We all know how such conduct mars 
the beauty of manliness. Nothing is a bet- 
ter test of character and disposition than 
the way one meets defeat or bears injury. 
"Blessed are the meek," is a great deal more 
human beatitude than we are wont to think. 
Commendation is sweet, but we show a piti- 
able weakness if we keep sweet only when 
people are saying complimentary things to 
us or of us, and then get discouraged and 
out of sorts when the adulation does not 
come. There is a good teaching which coun- 
sels us to prefer others in honor, and when 
[305] 



Cfjtng* tfjat <£nbure 



a young man has had a term as an officer or 
a committee chairman in his society, he ought 
to be delighted to yield the place to another, 
and should go back into the ranks with the 
best of cheerfulness, to work more earnestly 
and beautifully than ever in the unofficial 
place. 

Let us put away childish things forever. 
Let the young people begin to do so very 
early. If you find the slightest disposition 
in yourself to pout or sulk or be envious or 
jealous, or to play the baby in any way, you 
have a splendid chance to do a Christlike 
thing. Will you do it? 



[306] 



Utememter tfie Wap 



CHAPTER XXXVn 

Utememfcer tfje Way 




HERE is a Scriptural exhortation 
which bids us remember all the 
ways by which the Lord has led 
us. This exhortation is always 
timely, but at the close of a year it has spe- 
cial timeliness. 

Memory is a wonderful faculty. If we did 
not remember, our past would mean nothing 
to us. All the beautiful things we see, the 
noble or inspiring words we hear, the gentle 
emotions we experience, would pass and leave 
no trace behind. We should learn nothing 
as we go through life. But memory holds 
and treasures up for us all that the day 
brings to us. Thus it enriches us in mind 
and heart and makes our life like a river, 
widening and deepening as it flows. 

It is God's leading that we are especially 
exhorted to remember — the way by which he 
has led us. Has God truly led us all the year? 
[309] 



Cfnngg tfjat <£nbure 



It is unquestionably our privilege to have the 
divine guidance at every point, but whether 
we have it or not depends largely upon our- 
selves. God does not force himself upon us 
even in his love for us. Christ came unto his 
own, and his own received him not. We may 
refuse to be led, insist upon going as we wish, 
turning every one to his own way. If trou- 
ble or misfortune come to us through our own 
wilfulness and waywardness we cannot charge 
it upon God. 

But if we are submissive to God, if we ac- 
cept his will, and, laying our hand in his, 
quietly go as he guides us, then we shall have 
the divine leading in all our life. This means 
that God will order our steps day by day, 
giving us our work, unrolling to us the chart 
of our life in little sections as we go on. 
Sometimes the way he leads is easy and pleas- 
ant, just the way we would have chosen for 
ourselves. Sometimes, however, it is hard and 
painful, not the path on which we would have 
gone. Still we know that all the way the 
Lord our God has led us is a good way, how- 
[310] 



tonemfoer tfje Way 



ever full of disappointments and trials the 
way may have been to us. Nothing was more 
beautiful in the death of President McKinley 
than the spirit in which he laid all in God's 
hands when it became evident that he must 
lay down his work and leave this world. "It 
is God's way. His will be done, not ours." 
Thus always Christian faith should meet even 
the keenest disappointments, taking God's 
way with confidence and joy, knowing that it 
is best. 

When we are called to remember all the 
way by which the Lord hath led us, it is in- 
tended that we should think of the goodness 
and mercy of the way, and of all that God 
has done for us. We are too apt to forget. 
Many of us have an unfailing memory for the 
unpleasant things, for the losses, the sorrows, 
the difficulties of the way, while we are most 
forgetful of the love that attends us every 
step. Murmuring seems more natural and 
more easy to many people than gratitude. 
They will take blessings, common and un- 
common, from God as they come in continu- 
[311] 



Cfnnga njat <£nfcrore 



ous flow through the years, with scarcely a 
thought of praise or an emotion of thanks- 
giving. But the moment there is a break in 
the current of pleasant things they cry out 
in complaint. There are people who never 
see the lovely things in nature. They walk 
through scenes of inimitable beauty in garden 
and field and see nothing to admire, experi- 
ence no emotion of pleasure. So there are 
those who live three score years and ten 
amid manifestations of divine love, yet never 
get a glimpse of God's face. 

"Earth's crammed with heaven, 
And every common bush afire with God; 
But only he who sees takes off his shoes; 
The rest sit round it, and pluck black- 
berries." 

God has been in all this year's life. We 
should look over the story now at the close 
to find the tokens of his love. As we fold up 
the volume to lay it away among the books 
to be opened on the judgment day we should 
write upon it "Laus Deo" 



[312] 



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